


To Keep My Wolves From Your Door

by pirateygoodness



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Fingerfucking, Oral Sex, Werewolf Senses, Werewolf Sex, past Bobbi Morse/Lance Hunter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:23:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 41,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirateygoodness/pseuds/pirateygoodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an alternate universe in which SHIELD is a conservation agency, Jemma is a plucky environmental scientist, and Bobbi is the werewolf who can't help falling for her. A few parts supernatural romance, a few parts Bobbi character study. Loosely based off of Bobbi's arc in Season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is a line from "Bad Blood" by Bear's Den. Thank you to [@ohladybegood](http://ohladybegood.tumblr.com) and [@falsealarm](http://falsealarm.tumblr.com) for beta support. <3

It’s Bobbi’s first day, and she’s nervous. 

She doesn’t need to be, not really. This isn’t so much a job as it is _cover_ , although she’s not sure she’s enough of a spy to be able to use that kind of language. Either way, it’s a bit of a setup. The job came through a friend of a friend who knows Gonzales, the interview mostly a formality. It's a job she's qualified to do (at least according to her resume, which is mostly fake), and it gets her into the right place to be useful. 

She goes to HR, where she gets her photo taken and tries to keep her nervous energy to a minimum. She gets a badge, looks down at the grainy photo of herself with the forced smile. The company logo is right underneath, a wolf silhouette and trees in a circle, the company acronym below that: _Snoqualmie Habitat Innovative Endangered Lupine Division_ \- better known as SHIELD. At the bottom is her name: _Barbara Morse, Communications._

She goes from HR to the head office, where she’s due to meet Director Coulson. She knows him a little, a familiar face in the back of her interview and a profile from the company’s website. It’s still nerve-wracking to properly meet him, even if she does stand a head taller than he does. Bobbi gets like this on first days, more so when it’s not a real job but a _pack_ job, with an objective that’s bigger than her. She needs to make a good impression. 

She gets ‘oriented’ - nineteen pages of forms saying she won’t steal data or hunt illegally or generally embarrass the company. (Of course, she plans to do all three, but the whole point is that they don’t need to know that.) She signs without so much as a dilated pupil, calm as anything. 

From Director Coulson’s office she goes back to HR, where she sits in a windowless office with the head of the department - this guy named Billy who uses the word _dude_ like a frat boy circa 1999, and keeps calling her _Ms. Morse_. She lets herself slouch down a little, hunkers in to wait for the communications manager, some woman called Daisy. 

 

+

 

Bobbi is thirty-two, and in a month she'll be starting at SHIELD. She’s fresh from a fight with Lance - the same bullshit, it’s always the same bullshit with him - when Hartley comes to see her. 

Bobbi’s sitting on the grass in the common area of the pack co-op, back against a tree, so it’s not like she’s hard to find. Her house is right around the corner, and she could - she should - go inside, cool off, go to bed. But she’s still twitchy, furious with Hunter in a way that always gets right under her skin, until she’s not sure if she wants to fight or fuck or shift or all of the above. 

“Hey,” Hartley says, slouching down next to her. “What’s up?”

Bobbi shrugs. “Oh, you know.” 

“Yeah, I heard.” Off Bobbi’s look, she clarifies. “I think we all heard.”

Bobbi sighs. Joining the pack had seemed like such a good idea when she was twenty-four and wide-eyed, still learning about how to be a wolf. But it’s hard to have a fight in privacy when everyone you know lives within a mile radius, and harder still when everyone has enhanced hearing and a wolf inside that can feel her own. 

“Sorry,” she says. She doesn’t really mean it - Hunter is being an _ass_ and she’d yell at him all over again in a heartbeat, but it seems like the thing to say. 

“It happens,” Harley says. She nudges Bobbi’s side with her elbow, and winks. “For the record, I’m with you on this one.” 

Bobbi looks down at her hands, smiles. Some of the angry tightness in her chest uncurls a little. “Thanks.”

Hartley chuckles, and promptly changes the subject. Bobbi’s not surprised - she doesn’t do comforting without an agenda, not usually. “Just got word from Gonzales - they lost another one upstate.”

“Another one?”

“Yep. Third wolf killed this month, same way as the last ones.”

“Anyone we know?”

Hartley shakes her head. It doesn’t help, that it was a stranger. Bobbi runs a hand through her hair, feeling angry, impotent.

“I hate this, Is.” 

Hartley raises an eyebrow and waits for her to clarify.

“ _This,_ ” she says, gesturing ineffectually to the trees around her. “All this pack bullshit, and Lance, and now someone’s out there killing us like we’re a bunch of animals.”

“Well, we _are_ a bunch of animals,” Hartley says, gives her a dramatic stage wink. 

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean," Hartley agrees, gently. She wraps her arm around Bobbi, resting her hand between Bobbi's shoulder blades and scratching a little, comforting. The touch helps. “Look, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Bobbi asks. 

“Gonzales has a theory. He thinks this is all coming from data out of SHIELD.”

Bobbi's heard the name before - it's some organization up in Seattle, all conservation and environmental protection research, but as far as she knows they've always been harmless. “SHIELD?" she asks. "Like, the wolf conservation research hippies, SHIELD?”

“That’s the one.”

“Huh,” Bobbi says. She knows what Hartley’s going to ask next, and she’s sort of already considering it. 

Hartley says it anyway. “He wants someone to go in, get to know the place, so we can figure out who’s targeting us.”

“Makes sense.”

“Might be a chance to get away for a bit,” Hartley says. She's looking at Bobbi sideways, and to an outside observer she'd seem pretty relaxed. But Bobbi knows her, knows that she's watching Bobbi closely for a reaction, with her eyes and all of her other senses, wanting to be sure she's up for this.

Bobbi sighs, looks across the lawn to the cabin she used to share with Lance. The lights are on, and she knows he’s inside - probably sitting with Idaho, half-drunk and bitching about how awful she is. She thinks about not having to see his stupid face for a while, not having to deal with all the fallout that seems to happen when packmates break up. Or at least to have a bit less of it for a few months. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m in.”

 

+

 

Somehow, with a name like Daisy, Bobbi had expected a certain type of person. Someone sort of spacey, probably vegan, into not wearing makeup and organic clothing and drum circles. Instead, what she finds is a woman about her age, bright-eyed and dressed sharply in a suit and heels. (Of course, it could be an organic suit; it’s not like Bobbi can tell.) Daisy introduces herself, and extends a warm smile and a hand for Bobbi to shake. 

“Barbara," she says, "But I'd prefer if you call me Bobbi."

“Right,” Daisy says, with an easy smile that meets her eyes. “Bobbi, cool.” 

Daisy turns out to be surprisingly efficient and easy to get along with, and both of those discoveries are a bit of a relief. The communications team at SHIELD is just Daisy and herself, which means they'll probably end up spending a lot of time together, and it's nice to know that won’t be difficult. She orients Bobbi to the job - there are more forms, an information package on the communications department, briefings on all the ongoing projects - in all of fifteen minutes. 

Daisy's also deeply curious, and that’s fine, but Bobbi finds herself scrambling a little to answer questions she didn’t think she’d get asked until her second or third day. 

“So, what brings you to Seattle?" Daisy asks, after they've gone through the most pressing forms and chatted for a little while about work. "Coulson said you were new in town.”

Bobbi shrugs. “Oh, you know. Bad breakup. Needed a fresh start.” 

It’s at least sixty percent truth, and Daisy nods along, accepting it at face value. “Yeah, I get that.” 

There's a bit of a faraway look to Daisy's expression, like there might be a story there. She's silent for a few moments, before shaking her head and looking at Bobbi properly. "So," she says. "We could sit here and do work for a little bit, or I could give you a tour and introduce you to the rest of the SHIELD team. Thoughts?”

Daisy smiles, like her plans for the morning involve ditching work and maybe taking a long lunch. It's not a terrible start to the day, and a tour would be helpful for more than one reason. “Yeah, a tour sounds great.” 

Daisy's grin widens, pleased to see that Bobbi’s on her wavelength. “Excellent.”

 

SHIELD takes up two floors of an office tower downtown - their main headquarters, Bobbi learns, augmented by several small field stations in Teanaway and a couple of the other national forests. Daisy takes her through their floor, which is mostly cubicles, introducing her to a half-dozen faces and names who work mostly in fundraising and education. 

The floor below is the science division, and Daisy takes her down there next. There's an elevator, then a door that Bobbi and Daisy's badges will open. After that, they pass through another set of double doors and into the lab space, which is pretty much exactly what Bobbi expected. She hasn't done as much science as she'd like, but she remembers her high school chem lab pretty vividly, and the basics of the lab at SHIELD aren't so different. 

The contrast lies in the sheer volume of _clutter_ in the lab Bobbi and Daisy are standing in. There are files and half-finished prototypes and diagrams everywhere, every possible free space occupied by storage. The space isn't that big, she's pretty sure - based on the size of the floor above - but from the entrance, Bobbi can't see anyone. As they take a few steps further into the lab, Bobbi's aware of the sounds of an argument, a male and female voice going back and forth. 

Daisy makes a face that Bobbi can’t quite interpret - apology, maybe - and leads her further into the lab. 

“Jemma, all I’m saying is that _perhaps_ if you’d run the calibrations by me first, we wouldn’t be -“

“I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t need to, it’s not a problem with -“

“Well, it’s not calibrated _correctly_ , that’s for sure.”

Bobbi and Daisy round a corner, past several racks of equipment, and finally reach the source of the voices. The woman is in the middle of rolling her eyes, and saying, “Ugh, _Fitz_.”

Her voice has a long-suffering, exasperated note that Bobbi can relate to. Daisy cuts in, announcing them both before the man - Fitz, presumably - has a chance to respond. 

“Hey, guys. I’m here with a new staff member. It’s her first day, and I thought I’d introduce her to our excellent science division.” She puts an emphasis on _excellent_ that implies _best behavior_ , and the two scientists suddenly settle, looking mostly contrite at being caught arguing. “This is Bobbi Morse, she’s joining our communications team. Bobbi, this is Leo Fitz and Jemma Simmons, they’re the heads of our science division.” 

Bobbi steps forward, giving them both a smile and offering a hand. Fitz shakes her hand gruffly, clearly still fuming. 

The other scientist - Jemma - looks genuinely pleased to meet Bobbi, and not the least bit bothered by the interruption. She's cute, in a nerdy sort of way that Bobbi can appreciate. When Bobbi offers her hand, Jemma accepts it, making eye contact and stepping into it, a little. 

“Welcome,” she says. She looks Bobbi up and down - a long look, as she’s quite short - and her ears go pink. It’s obvious, but in a sweet way, and Bobbi can't help but find it a little charming. 

“Thanks,” Bobbi says. She rubs her thumb across the back of Jemma’s hand as she releases it, and doesn’t miss the way that blush deepens just a little. “I’m looking forward to working with you.” 

It’s a statement that could be addressed to the whole team, but Jemma’s the one who responds, voice sweet and just a little flustered. “Likewise,” she says.

There's a moment there, one where Bobbi almost wants to say something more, talk to Jemma further. She's not sure why, but something about Jemma is just _interesting._

Before she can say anything more, Daisy's hand is on her elbow and she's being steered deeper into the lab, to meet more people and learn more names. But Bobbi's almost sure she catches Jemma watching her, wide-eyed, as she leaves.

 

+

 

Agreeing to go out on an assignment means meeting with Gonzales directly. He doesn’t tell Bobbi much that Hartley hasn’t already told her - infiltrate SHIELD, feed back intel on their data collection systems and sort out whether or not they're connected to the dead werewolves turning up over the past few months. From the way he talks, it sounds like he’s not certain that SHIELD is part of a deliberate attack, and Bobbi can’t tell if she finds that reassuring or even more of a concern. 

She gets her assignment - her fake resume, the details of her job interview, the backstory to a new identity - and shakes Gonzales’ hand on her way out. 

The thing is, meeting with Gonzales is _meeting with him_ , and it’s pretty impossible to meet with the head of the pack without everyone knowing about it. 

When she leaves, Lance is outside, waiting. 

He catches up to her on the lawn, halfway between his place and hers (the one that used to be _theirs_ , not that she’s thinking about it), stepping right into her path. He’s got his arms crossed against his chest, puffed up as tall as he can make himself. “Anything you want to tell me?”

Bobbi sighs. She tries to step around him, but he steps out to meet her, _stubborn._ “Not particularly, no,” she says.

“You sure? No little tidbit about how you’re about to go off on some bloody suicide mission for Gonzales?” he asks. His eyes are practically bulging, and he’s got that _tone_ again, that outrage like this is something she needed to ask permission for and _god_ she just wants him to leave her alone for _ten minutes._

“It’s not a _suicide mission_ , Hunter, relax.” 

He rolls his eyes, one hand moving to his hip and the other splaying out wide, like _she’s_ the ridiculous one, here. “Relax? That's all you've got to say - are you bloody serious?”

He reaches out and touches her, fingers wrapped around her upper arm like they have a right to be there anymore. It takes all of her self-control not to deck him. “ _Hunter_ ,” she says, and maybe there’s more danger in her eyes than she thinks, because he releases her almost reflexively. 

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She can feel her wolf, too close to the surface (always too close, when she’s around Hunter) and she has to bite back a growl. “I’m not going to _die_ ,” she says, voice as even as she can manage. “I’m just going to do recon. And it’s none of your business because you’re not my husband, and you don’t get to have a say in what I do, anymore.”

Hunter pauses, looking deflated. His mouth opens and closes a couple of times, searching for something to say. For a minute, Bobbi feels almost guilty. “Right, then.” 

But it’s not - she doesn’t want to hurt him, is the thing. Not really. It’s not his fault that she couldn’t make things work the way he wanted, and she knows that he’s being this dramatic because he’s still hurting, in his own way. When she speaks again, it’s with as much gentleness as she can manage. “Look, I just - I’m an adult. I know what I’m doing.” 

It’s awful, this thing between them. She doesn’t know if it’ll ever stop being awful. 

Hunter gives her a look, the longing in it almost palpable. His eyes flicker wolf-yellow, just for a moment. She thinks about giving him a goodbye kiss, but the last one of those turned into an poorly thought-out weekend in bed and she’s trying not to hurt him any more than she already has. “Promise me you’ll be careful?” he says, and there’s so much heart in his eyes that she can hardly stand it. 

“I will,” she says. She doesn’t kiss him, but she reaches up and cups his cheek. The feel of stubble against her fingertips is familiar and not, all at once. 

Lance closes his eyes against her touch, and leans into her palm just a little before they break apart. 

When they separate, she shoves her hand into her back pocket and does her best not to think about him anymore. She’s got work to do, and things to pack, and places to go.

A break might be exactly what she needs. 

 

+

 

Her first project with SHIELD is a press release. Daisy assigns it to her with an extensive list of very clear instructions and an apology: “I planned this out before I met you, and I wasn’t sure how good you’d be. The bullet points might be a little excessive.” 

They are, but they’re also helpful in keeping Bobbi focused (plus, a solid half of the resume that got her through the door was made up. Extra guidance is never a bad thing.) Bullet point six is: _go to the lab and meet with the staff - get them to explain the science of what they’re developing because we need a straight answer before we talk with the media. (Jemma is best for this.)_

So she goes to the lab, and asks to meet with Jemma. 

 

She knows that she recognizes the name, but it’s not until Jemma is actually in front of her that she fully connects the _Jemma_ on paper to the woman she met in the lab on her first day to the person standing in front of her right now. She’s shorter than Bobbi remembered, and - there’s not really any better way to say it - cute. Cute in a grown-up way, but there’s something about the way she comes to meet Bobbi, hair askew and safety goggles pushed up onto her forehead and just a bit breathless, that makes Bobbi’s heart do a little flip. “Bobbi,” she says, smiling. 

Bobbi can’t help but notice the way that Jemma’s whole expression lights up when she smiles, and oh. _Oh._ This is going to be an issue. “Hi,” Bobbi says. “I was hoping I could grab you for a few minutes? Daisy has me working on this press release, she told me to -"

“Oh! Right. Of course,” Jemma says. Her hand flies up to her hair, presumably to tuck it behind her ears, but instead it finds safety goggles. She rushes to take them off too quickly, fumbling a little and patting at her hair with her free hand. “If you’ll - we should go to one of the meeting rooms, that’s probably a quieter spot.” 

Before Bobbi can agree or disagree, Jemma’s walking forward, leaving Bobbi to follow in bemused silence. They make their way through several rows of lab equipment and benches to a small set of rooms near the back, tucked away like they might have started life as offices. Inside, Bobbi can see that each room is unoccupied, and bare save for a computer terminal, desk, and set of chairs. Jemma gestures Bobbi into the nearest room. 

Bobbi sits down in the nearest chair. As she does, Jemma disappears, with a, “Just one moment, I’ll be right in,” over her shoulder. 

Jemma returns - true to her word - a few moments later, carrying a few sheets of blank paper and a pen. She moves her chair over until they’re seated side-by-side, instead of across the table from each other. She leans forward, and as she does, Bobbi breathes in, catching her scent. 

She’s not _trying_ to, or anything. But Jemma’s sitting so near, and - well, she smells really good, is the thing. It’s complicated - layers of cosmetics and hair products, and underneath all that the smell of her skin, salt-warm and inviting - but Bobbi catches herself breathing deeply, teasing out all the layers of it, on instinct. 

“Alright,” Jemma says. It breaks Bobbi’s concentration, and that’s probably not the worst thing. 

“Right.”

“So the product - Romulus - is an algorithm, sort of. SHIELD has been monitoring local wolf populations for the past few decades, but up until recently, a lot of that monitoring involved physically going out and putting tracking devices on individual animals to collect data.”

Bobbi nods. This, she knows. (She also knows a funny story about the time Mack came home from a full moon run fitted with a GPS collar, but Jemma doesn’t need to know that.) 

“Well, what we’ve developed is a computer system that uses remote data to allow for monitoring of local packs and individual animals using existing satellite infrastructure, without tags.”

“No tags at all?”

Jemma shakes her head, clearly quite proud of her work. 

“And you can keep track of individual animals - how do you know they’re wolves, instead of coyotes or bears or whatever else?”

Jemma’s gaze turns up, just for a moment, clearly searching for the right words. “Well - mathematics, is the short answer. Fitz developed that part. I can have him go over it with you, but honestly, he’ll spend half an hour talking your ear off about computational biology and I’m not sure it’ll make things much clearer.” 

Bobbi nods. “Right. Math. Simple. I can work with that.” 

Jemma smiles kindly in reply. 

Bobbi takes a moment, trying to focus. She’s trying not to think about what this _means_ , about the fact that SHIELD could be watching her whole pack right now, dozens of little wolf-readings on a monitor flicking in and out of existence with every shift. She blinks, willing herself back to the present. “What did you say this thing was called, again?”

“Romulus.”

Bobbi gets the reference immediately - the Roman legend, a warrior raised by wolves - and smiles. “Raised by wolves,” Bobbi says. “I like it.”

Jemma’s cheeks flush, and she reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Exactly,” she says. 

This close, Bobbi can hear Jemma’s heartbeat, and it’s hard for her not to notice the _thumpthumpthump_ of her pulse suddenly grow faster. “Um, it’s also -“ Jemma starts. Her voice comes out high-pitched, flustered, and she catches herself for a moment. “It’s also scalable to other ecosystems beyond the Pacific Northwest, which has really interesting implications for conservation on a national level, and that’s one of the other reasons Romulus is so exciting.”

Bobbi forces herself to nod and starts to make notes. She needs to discuss this all with Mack (and _several_ beers), and she needs to think about what Daisy will need for her press release. But most importantly, she needs to think about staying professional, because every time Jemma leans in to speak to her, or draw a diagram, all of that fades into the background. It's a distraction, one she should be able to ignore. 

But her wolf is doing that thing, that _oh, hello_ that happens when she’s around someone she’s attracted to. It’s not - she’s not _shifting_ , she’s not a _teenager_ , but her senses sharpen just a little more, and her wolf reminds her of just how long it’s been since she was attracted to anyone new. (Longer than she’d like, and then some.) It makes all that desire, all the things she’s noticing about Jemma, suddenly appear in high-definition. 

She still smells good, and - 

Bobbi takes a deep breath, trying to focus herself. Instead, she ends up inhaling Jemma’s scent even deeper, and by the time she realizes what she’s doing she’s already spent a good ten seconds staring at Jemma’s mouth. 

(It’s not a bad mouth, is the thing, and the way she twists her lips when she starts talking about conservation applications of her research is gorgeous, and -)

“Anyway, I think that’s everything. Unless you have any more questions?” 

Bobbi blinks, forcibly shaking her head to clear it. “No,” she says. “No, I, um. I think that’ll be all.” 

She glances down, pretending to straighten the sheets on her clipboard. “Good then,” Jemma says. She collects the sheets she’s been diagramming on, and gestures toward Bobbi’s notes. “If you think they’ll be helpful.” 

They will be - probably, maybe - and Bobbi needs to get her thoughts out of her pants and back into _work_ , wolf attraction or no. “Thank you, yeah,” she says. “That helps a lot.” 

“I can, um. I don’t mind walking you out. The lab area can be a little labyrinthine, and I know you’re just starting, so -“ 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Bobbi says, and she swears she can see a blush rise on Jemma’s cheeks. 

“Good then,” Jemma says. Her hand rises to her hair again, tucking it behind her ear. Bobbi wonders if it’s a bit of a nervous habit. 

They make it through the lab corridors, Jemma leading Bobbi in silence until they’re back at the main entrance. “Do you think you’ll be able to find you way from here?”

“Yeah, I should be fine.” 

“Oh,” Jemma says, sighing like she’s been holding her breath, a little. “Good.” 

Bobbi’s not sure what to say to cap things off. Her wolf is giving her _lots_ of suggestions, but none of them are helpful or work-appropriate, and she's having trouble ignoring them enough to figure out what a normal person would do. “Thank you for taking the time to meet me,” she manages, and extends her hand. 

Jemma takes it, shaking once and lingering, just a little bit. Her skin is soft and warm and Bobbi can smell salt and jasmine and it’s a conscious effort for Bobbi to relax her fingers and break the handshake. 

“You’re welcome,” Jemma says, voice soft. She’s blushing again, bright pink. 

As Bobbi walks away she can hear Jemma’s heartbeat rabbit-quick in her ears, _thumpthumpthump._

 

+

 

Bobbi spends the rest of the workday focusing very hard on finishing her press briefing, and trying to ignore the way those handwritten sheets smell vaguely like Jemma. She does her best not to think about Jemma’s smallness, the way that she’d fit perfectly against Bobbi, and how nice it would be to rest her chin on top of Jemma’s shoulder. 

(She absolutely doesn’t think about how much she likes seeing Jemma flustered.)

She goes home, she makes dinner, she has a beer. 

That doesn’t help, either. 

She’s just - she’s twitchy with it, her wolf saying _hello_ and her body’s not used to this. She’s used to dating wolves, where everything is so much simpler: _my wolf likes you, your wolf likes me, let’s do something with that._ (Which, of course, has its own drawbacks.) She hasn’t had to deal with all the stuff that comes with being attracted to someone who can’t feel her wolf, who can’t sense that _yesyesyes_ pulling her closer and _understand._

It’s also been ages since she’s felt like this and hasn't been able to act on it, and she feels it everywhere - under her skin, between her legs, underneath her ribs - like an itch. 

She can't work off this energy the way she'd like - not with Jemma, and _certainly_ not with Hunter - so she goes for a run. 

There’s a spot near her apartment, a park that bleeds into a path that leads to forest. There are trails for joggers and dog walkers, but there’s also miles and miles of barely-maintained woodland, and that’s what Bobbi needs, right now. 

She finds a clearing, just far enough from the path that she won’t be seen. She strips her clothes off - sweatpants, tank top, sweatshirt, shoes - and sets them onto the branch of a nearby tree, tucked into a spot where the trunk splits. She breathes. 

Her wolf is restless, now, anticipating the shift, unspent energy rising to the surface. Her hands shake a little bit as she leans forward, takes another breath, and allows the change to happen. 

It’s familiar, now, the feeling of a shift taking place. Her wolf waking up fully, rising from under her skin and filling it from the inside out. Her hips-knees-back-shoulders pop as bones shrink, change shape, change alignment. The world tilts as her feet shift, toes to paws, metatarsals rearranging themselves to tip her onto all fours. She feels the soft, vaguely itchy prickling along her skin as fur sprouts along her back-belly-thighs-limbs, covering her completely. 

She shakes, settling into the weight of her coat, the shape of her body. Long ears flop against the sides of her head, and she pants out a grin, tongue lolling. She is Bobbi, she’s not-Bobbi, tall and fast and sleek and eager. She breathes deep, and recognizes a hundred different smells, rabbit and human and deer and car exhaust and cheeseburgers and trees. 

Her wolf is there - her wolf is _her_ , awake and eager, mind racing with thoughts of _hunt_ and _hungry_ and _run._

She lets go. 

 

+

 

Bobbi comes in from her hunt happy, exhausted, with the taste of blood and rabbit in her mouth. She arches her back, thinks about music and sidewalks and feet instead of paws, and waits as everything moves backwards. Fur to skin, short legs to long, shoulders and hips arranging themselves into angles that want to be upright. 

She finds her clothes - still where she left them, thankfully - and checks the watch in her jacket pocket. 02:00. 

She dresses, walks back to her apartment and all but collapses into bed, exhausted. 

 

\+ 

 

The next day is work - on two legs, in professional clothing, indoors. Everything feels a bit alien as Bobbi gets dressed, drinks coffee, eats cooked eggs and toast instead of meat, but she pushes through it. She’s used to this, the wobbly not-wolf feeling that comes the morning after a shift. 

Everything’s a little bit heightened as she leaves her apartment building - smells seem brighter, more distracting, and her hearing is even more sensitive than usual. She leaves early and walks to work, not quite ready to face public transit and the sensory overload she knows she'll find there. 

When she finally makes it to her desk, she’s already hungry again, and ready for a nice, quiet day of not talking to anyone about anything. 

Daisy breezes in a few minutes after she arrives, smelling like soap and hair products in a way that makes Bobbi’s wolf-stomach turn. It’s not Daisy’s fault - it’s Bobbi, it’s shifting and then having to be around people who don’t understand about wolf-senses - but a wave of nausea hits her all the same. 

“Hey,” she says, taking off her coat and setting it on the hook by the door. “How was your night last night?”

She tugs off her scarf, fluffing her hair back into place with a free hand, and the movement sends a wave of scent in Bobbi’s direction. She smells good, is the thing, but it’s so _much_ and Bobbi’s stomach is churning. She needs to not throw up on her third day undercover from a goddamn wolf hangover. 

“Good,” she manages, trying to focus on keeping her voice even, instead of her senses. “I, um, didn’t do much. What about you?”

Daisy shrugs. “Oh, you know. Hung out at home, mostly.”

She keeps speaking, moving toward Bobbi’s desk to lean on the corner of it. She’s launching into a story about something - she has a new neighbour with a loud television, Bobbi thinks - and the smell of her is overpowering and her wolf wants trees and air and she can’t tell if she’s sick or ravenous from it. It’s too much. Bobbi closes her eyes, trying to focus all of her energy on _not smelling._

“You okay?” Daisy’s voice asks. There’s a hand on her shoulder, and when she looks up, Daisy’s frowning at her, expression searching. 

“Sorry,” Bobbi says. She’s acutely aware of how sick she feels, but also of how this looks _bad_ and is the opposite of inconspicuous. “Um. Is it okay if we open a window? I think I’m just feeling a little overheated, is all.” 

“Yeah,” Daisy says, gesturing to the window behind Bobbi’s workstation. “Yeah, of course.” 

Bobbi turns to open the window, trying not to look as desperate for fresh air as she feels. There’s a gentle, plastic-sounding _click_ as the window uncatches and slides open. Bobbi breathes in deep, letting the rush of clean air - ocean and sky and trees and city - wash over her. It helps, a lot. “Sorry,” Bobbi says, taking another deep breath and forcing in memories of two legs and fingers-not-paws and what her senses are supposed to feel like. “Sorry. That's better. You, um. Your neighbour?”

“ _Right_ ,” Daisy says, and slips right back into her story. It’s actually funny, now that Bobbi feels a little better, and she uses Daisy’s words as a focal point as she comes back to herself.


	2. Chapter Two

Bobbi makes it through the rest of her first week, doing her best to keep her head down and not make any more waves. It’s been a while since she worked days, with regular people, and it’s both trickier and more tiring than she remembers. By the time she makes it back to her apartment on Friday night, she’s exhausted. 

She heads up the steps of her building and down her hallway. She’s so preoccupied with thinking about the week she’s had, planning for the week ahead and her report to Gonzales, that she’s not paying attention to her surroundings like she should be. 

Three doors away from her own apartment, she gets the feeling that something's not quite right. It takes her a couple of steps more before she recognizes the feeling of _other wolf_ , somewhere nearby. She pauses, lifting her head to scent the air a little bit, and her heart leaps when she recognizes it as _Mack_. It’s only been a few weeks since they saw each other last, but it feels like ages. Going from years steeped in wolves to weeks on her own with nothing but people is a bit of an adjustment, and she realizes, suddenly, how much she missed him. 

When she opens the door, he’s already sitting on the couch. His feet are up on the coffee table and he’s got a beer in one hand, flipping through his phone with the other, like he owns the place. She can hardly stand how happy she is to see him. She yelps out a laugh as she sets her bag down and closes the door behind her, says, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Make yourself at home.”

The sarcasm in her tone is completely negated by the size of her smile, the way she’s practically vibrating with how much she’s missed him. From the way he’s lighting up, she’s pretty sure he feels the same. 

“Not a problem,” Mack says, lifting his bottle in greeting. 

She sets her hand on the back of the couch and hops, aiming for the space next to Mack. His arm’s around her shoulders before she lands. “Hey, Bob,” he says. His voice is warm and comforting and it’s hopelessly sappy to even think it, but it sort of sounds like home. 

“Hey, you,” she says. She lifts his beer out of his hand and takes a long sip, stopping only when he ruffles her hair in reply. 

“You miss me?” he says, voice expectant. 

“Nah,” Bobbi says, but they both know she’s joking. Her wolf is practically wagging its tail in delight, and already she can feel the urge to run, shift, play that comes with being with _pack_.

“Yeah, whatever,” he says, rumbly and sweet. “Alright. Business first, then we can have a little fun, yeah?”

“Sounds good," she says, taking another sip of his drink. 

"You going to give that back, or should I just get another for myself?" he asks, teasing. Bobbi makes a show of rolling her eyes, hands the bottle back to him. It's a little lighter than it was when she first borrowed it. 

“So, tell me about SHIELD," Mack asks. "What’s the deal, there?”

“They’re - “ she pauses, taking a moment. “- kind of nice, actually.” 

“Seriously?" he says, passing his drink back to her for another sip. "You sure it’s not just a veneer of niceness to cover up the evil?”

“Maybe,” she says. She’s still holding the beer bottle, not quite ready for another drink just yet. Her thumb comes up to worry at the label, a nervous habit. For some reason, she’s thinking about Jemma. “I’ve met a couple people that seem okay, though.” 

She doesn’t need to look at Mack to know that he’s making that face, that big-brotherly frown of concern. She’s seen it enough, from every one of her go-rounds with Hunter. There’s something about the idea of that face associated with what she’s feeling now that she doesn’t like, and rather than examine that too closely, she changes the subject. “On the plus side, I think I’ve figured out how our killer might be picking up werewolves.” 

She explains Romulus, the algorithm and the satellite math that makes it work. When she lays it out, all facts and none of the exciting conservation slant that SHIELD always brings, it’s a little terrifying. Mack frowns, and takes back his beer. “This is a problem,” he says, after a long drink. “I mean, for conservation, fine, but in the wrong hands, this is basically a werewolf detector.”

“Exactly. Just look for the data points that disappear, or reappear in unusual places.” 

“Any good news?”

Bobbi shrugs. “It’s very much a prototype, and the reach is pretty limited, right now. They’re piloting it with satellite data in the Snoqualmie Falls area, and there’s a lot that I think they need to work on, still.”

Mack visibly relaxes. “So, nowhere close to our territory.”

“Or any of the other packs we know. For now,” she says. 

He nods. “For now.” 

There’s quiet, for a while. Mack passes the beer to Bobbi, who takes a sip and passes it back. After a few minutes, she works up the courage to ask, “How’s - how’s everyone?”

“Everyone?” he says, drawing the word out like he _knows something_ about her. “Or one someone in particular?”

“Yeah, you know me. I just really miss Idaho,” Bobbi says. She’s trying to joke about it, but her voice comes out so soft that it’s a dead giveaway. 

Mack shrugs. “Hunter’s good. I mean, he’s still Hunter, so, you know. But he’s doing alright. Hartley says hey.” 

_Hartley._ It’s been too long. “I miss her,” she says, means it. 

“Hey, she text you?” 

Bobbi shakes her head, and Mack gives her the latest round of updates. Apparently Hartley finally stopped dancing around Vic Hand and hooked up with her, and everyone in the pack has been about a hundred times more relaxed ever since. Last week, Vic actually laughed at a joke, and everything. He tells her about the project he’s been working on with Anne Weaver - a free clinic for all the kids that pass through pack territory, fresh from the bite and looking for guidance. It sounds amazing, and Bobbi has a hundred questions about it, about him. 

Eventually, they talk themselves out. Bobbi’s been restless since she she saw Mack, and his knee is bouncing up and down like he’s got some pent-up energy of his own. “You know what I could really use right now?”

Mack chuckles. “Nah, I’ve got no idea.” Bobbi shoves him, gently. “You know a place?”

Bobbi grins. “I know a place.” 

They practically race each other to Bobbi’s shifting spot, the one in the clearing by the running trail. When Bobbi sinks down into her wolf, it feels like a relief. She - wolf-Bobbi - _they_ \- are nipping at Mack’s flanks before he’s even finished shifting, giddy over having someone else to run with, at least for a little while. 

 

+

 

Bobbi’s second week at SHIELD turns into her third, and before she really realizes it, she’s been working there for the better part of two months. 

It’s mostly productive - she’s working on ways to skim data from Romulus without being detected, and drawing schematics of the office from memory. She meets with Mack once a week, the two of them sitting up in her apartment until late. He grills her on her interactions with other employees, on details she’s left out of all her press briefings (which get passed onto him in their entirety, of course), on whatever she’s picked up from being inside SHIELD. 

She keeps her head down at work, and despite her best efforts, ends up making friends. 

It's mostly Daisy's doing. They spend the most time together, sitting desk-to-desk in their shared office, and after a week or two of answering _what did you do last weekend?_ with a noncomittal _nothing_ , Daisy grows more than a little determined to turn Bobbi into a friend. 

It's Bobbi's seventh week at SHIELD when Daisy sidles up to her desk on a Friday afternoon. The workday's nearly done, and Daisy's looking at Bobbi like she's got a plan for her. "Hey," she says. "So, some friends and I usually get drinks on Fridays after work. Come hang out with us tonight." 

Bobbi sighs. She doesn't dislike the idea of spending more time with Daisy. But she wants to _go_ , wants to be someplace with quiet and open air and trees, after a week of being cooped up in the office. That said, Daisy's expression is so hopeful that Bobbi feels like it'd be rude to refuse. "Alright," she says. Daisy lights up before she's even finished speaking. "I guess I could handle a drink or two." 

 

Daisy takes her to a bar called The Triskelion, a few blocks away from work. She talks to Bobbi as they walk, half-work and half-reassurances. "Don't worry," she says. "We're just meeting Fitzsimmons, it's not a huge crowd. Jemma just texted to say they've got a table already." 

"Fitzsimmons?" Bobbi asks. She's heard the name before, but she still hasn't been able to reconcile it to an actual human person working at SHIELD. 

Daisy shakes her head, smiling. "Sorry, I mean - Leo Fitz and Simmons; Jemma. It's both their last names, and they work as a unit most of the time, so we kind of got into the habit upstairs of referring to them as one person. That's probably been a little confusing."

"A bit," Bobbi says. "I managed."

The conversation turns to other things - favourite drinks and the weekend weather forecast - and Bobbi follows along. But there's a part of her that can't stop turning the name _Jemma Simmons_ over and over in her head, like a teenager with a crush.

 

The Triskelion is a little divey, in a cozy sort of way. There's a lot of dark wood and dark corners, and the walls are liberally decorated with vintage hiking trail maps and memorabilia from beer companies. It feels familiar - there's been a bar like this in every town Bobbi's ever visited, and it's nice to know that Seattle's no exception. She likes it immediately. 

As they enter, Daisy nudges Bobbi's elbow and points to a table near the door. Jemma and Fitz are seated already, halfway through glasses of beer with a pitcher between them. 

Daisy sits down, grabbing the two empty glasses as she sits. There's one seat left, across from Daisy and in between Jemma and Fitz. Jemma takes one look at Bobbi and blushes. "Bobbi," she says, brightly. "How lovely of you to join us." 

Bobbi smiles, trying not to look as shy as she feels. Instinctively, she slides one hand into her back pocket and looks away. "Yeah, well. Daisy was determined to make sure I joined you guys, tonight." 

"Well, I'm glad you made it," Jemma says. Her smile is friendly, genuine, and it _does something_ to Bobbi's wolf, making it stir. She sits. 

Daisy pours drinks for herself and for Bobbi, then passes Bobbi's drink across the table, as though the four of them sharing the pitcher is already implied. The beer itself isn't bad - foamy, generally beer-like, drinkable. It's not as good as the stuff Vic and Hartley make, not by a long shot, but it'll do. Daisy starts the conversation - mostly about work, about things they have in common. 

After the first round of drinks, things start to branch off a little more. Fitz and Daisy end up getting absorbed in a debate about gaming, one that makes Jemma roll her eyes and leaves Bobbi bewildered. Which leaves the two of them free, sitting next to each other. 

She can hear Jemma's heartbeat, a low hum in her ears. Her wolf is restless, made more eager by Jemma's closeness. Bobbi feels warm, flushed, and it's not from the drink at all. "So," she says, nodding at Daisy and Fitz. "Do they do this often?"

Jemma chuckles. Her laugh is pretty, delicate, and the sound of it sends a thrill down Bobbi's spine. "Sometimes," she says. "Give them a few minutes, they'll work it out soon." 

"What do you usually do when they're busy arguing?"

Jemma shrugs. "Talk to whoever's around," she says. She's giving Bobbi this _look_ , pointed and a little flirtatious. Bobbi feels her mouth go dry. "Sometimes I bring a book." 

Bobbi takes a sip of her beer, a bit longer than it needs to be. "So what are you reading, then?" Bobbi asks. 

Jemma looks into her drink for a moment, suddenly shy. She wears it beautifully, and it's all Bobbi can do to keep from licking her lips and leaning closer. "Well, it's a little silly, but - have you ever heard of Peggy Carter?"

Bobbi frowns. The name is familiar - she knows she's read it somewhere in the dozens of briefings that led up to her move to Seattle, but she can't recall much more than that. "I think so. Something to do with SHIELD in the early days, right?"

"She was a conservation researcher who came over from Britain after the war, and she was heavily involved in some really brilliant early work during the the fifties and sixties. She was actually one of the original founding members of SHIELD."

"Right," Bobbi says. "I think I do remember that, yeah."

"Anyway, I'm reading her - she wrote an autobiography, and I know that sounds horribly work-related but she really did have a fascinating life."

"Yeah?" Bobbi says. There's a smile in her voice and she's trying to be friendly, but it comes out sounding more than a little flirtatious. "That sounds really interesting." 

Jemma responds with a smile, then reaches up to twist a free strand of hair around her pinky. She looks _interested_ , in that way Bobbi's doing her best to ignore, but _oh_ , she's just so pretty. "It is," Jemma says. "Did you know she was also an avid high-altitude climber?"

"I didn't," Bobbi says. She leans in, just a little. Just to make sure she hears everything that Jemma says. But the bar is warm and dark and Jemma keeps looking at her like _that_ and Bobbi just wants to devour her for it. 

Jemma's arm is resting on the table, her hand loosely cupping the bottom of her glass, a slice of bare forearm visible as her sleeve rides up. Bobbi grips at her own knee, and does her best not to think about reaching out and running her thumb across Jemma's skin. 

Just then, she hears her own name - Daisy, asking a question. She's smiling a little, eyes flicking between Bobbi and Jemma, like Bobbi's being about as obvious as she feels. "- what about you?" Daisy asks. "You seem like you're a more outdoorsy sort of person." 

It's a sudden relief, and she turns to reply almost forcefully, trying to keep Jemma out of her field of vision. She can feel her cheeks growing hot, as she answers in the affirmative. "Yes," she says, allows herself to be drawn into a conversation about hiking trails and the best places to visit this time of year. 

It helps, to have something to focus on that's not Jemma, her voice and her smile and the way that Bobbi's wolf - the way that Bobbi _wants_. The conversation flows from hiking to movies to sports, and back again, and it's fine. It's friendly, it's a nice evening with coworkers. But Bobbi can't stop _noticing things_ about Jemma, and all of the ways she's pretty sure Jemma's noticing her right back. 

 

+

 

Bobbi goes to work on Monday, as usual. She and Daisy are finalizing details on a press announcement for the science division, getting ready to pass things along to the director's office, and it's got a bit of a deadline. 

Work keeps her and Daisy occupied for most of the day, but after lunch, Daisy leans over her desk and nudges Bobbi's ankle with her toes. "Hey," she says. "Take a break for a minute." 

Bobbi frowns. "What?"

"I want to ask you something," Daisy says. She's looking at Bobbi with a smile on her face, like what she wants to ask about isn't related to work at all. 

"Yeah?" Bobbi asks. 

"How did you like drinks on Friday?"

Bobbi shrugs. "I liked it alright," she says. "It was nice to see everyone outside of work for a bit. Plus, I finally figured out who Fitzsimmons is, so. That was a plus." 

Daisy tilts her head, and her expression is searching as she says, “She’s single, you know.” 

“What?” Bobbi asks. She knows what Daisy means - it’s not subtle - but she sort of wishes she didn’t. 

“Jemma,” Daisy says. She’s speaking slowly, like she wants to make sure Bobbi gets it. Like maybe all the texts she’s been getting today have been from Jemma. “She’s single.”

Bobbi looks away, resists the urge to sigh out her displeasure. She’s not embarrassed, necessarily - Jemma’s gorgeous, and it’s fine for Bobbi to let herself be a little smitten, and there’s only so much she can do about what her wolf wants - but she is disappointed in herself for being so obvious. “Oh,” she says, trying to keep her expression unreadable. “That’s good to know, I guess.” 

Daisy looks at Bobbi for a few moments, eyes narrowed, like she was hoping for a different response. Bobbi does her best not to fidget. “Yeah,” Daisy says, after a while, eyes sliding back to the pages in front of them. “So, the press release. What are our talking points on Romulus?”

They work through the project, and Daisy tells Bobbi that she’s doing good work, and by the end of the day they’ve hammered out a solid draft to send upstairs. Daisy offers to take it up to Director Coulson herself, with a few other things. “You’re fine to go home for the day,” she says. “We got some good work done.” 

“Thanks,” Bobbi says.

She turns to walk back to her own desk and gather her things, but before she can leave, Daisy reaches out to rest a hand on her forearm. “Just between you and me, she’s also into you. If that helps.” 

Bobbi’s expression stays neutral, but she _feels_ herself react, all nervous emotion behind her ribs. It doesn’t help at all. Not that it’s a surprise to know that Jemma finds her attractive - her heart rate told Bobbi as much when they’d met - but half the point of coming out here was to take a break from distractions. The last thing she needs is yet another ex-someone to avoid. “Thanks,” she says. “I just, I’m not really looking for -“

Daisy rolls her eyes, smiling like she knows something Bobbi doesn’t. “Of course you aren’t. But if you were, I just thought you’d want to know.”

She walks away, still smiling, leaving Bobbi alone in the office. Bobbi packs her things for the day, gets her coat, and walks out the door. She absolutely doesn’t think about where Jemma might be, and how she might be in the lab right now, texting with Daisy and thinking about Bobbi. 

 

+

 

Things go according to plan, until there’s a work event.

It’s not so much an event as it is a gala - this big fancy dress fundraiser, because SHIELD is an environmental research _charity_ , and that means soliciting donations. Daisy’s had a committee and a quiet, efficient woman named Melinda working on the evening for months. 

It’s absolutely not Bobbi’s kind of thing, and she wouldn’t go at all if it weren’t for the look in Daisy’s eye the day before the event, stressed and a little pleading: “I need you to be there, and look charming and fancy and tall, and just - I don’t know. Be backup.” 

Which is why she’s at an upscale hotel downtown, wearing a long black dress and shoes with heels and _lipstick_. She looks like someone normal - the kind of person who doesn’t wake up with pine needles and dirt under her fingertips three nights a month - and it’s already making her restless, ten minutes in. She tries to focus on the good things about this, like how happy it’ll make Daisy, and how meeting donors means a good chance to gather more intel, and not on all the ways she wants to tear her dress off and _leave._

Daisy’s standing at the entrance, looking like someone who absolutely belongs here. She’s wearing a cocktail dress, sparkly fuschia and short in a tasteful way, with a little blazer overtop. It’s adorable, and she’s done this thing with her hair that curls it up by her chin, highlighting the shape of her jaw. “Hey, you,” Bobbi says as she approaches. 

Daisy looks up from the clipboard in her arms, and her shoulders drop in relief at the sight of Bobbi. “Oh, thank god, you look hot. I need you to go over to that table at the back and tell them you work for us.”

Right. It’s that kind of evening. Bobbi nods, trying to take it in stride. “Anything I should know about them?” 

Daisy’s eyes flick down to her clipboard for a moment, then back up. “They’re a bunch of lawyers, who are pretty sure they love nature because it’s tax-deductible.” 

“Right.” 

She goes to talk to them. It’s crowded inside, knots of people in suits & dresses that she has to weave through, heading for the group Daisy indicated. Events like this are tough on wolf-senses - crowds just a bit too loud, her ears picking up just a little too much, and she’s pretty sure she’s going to end up leaving with a headache. 

The lawyers - four of them - are reasonably charming and very dull, but by the end of the conversation she’s convinced them that liking nature is an _excellent_ use of their money, probably. She moves from them to another knot of people nearby, trying to keep moving, trying to give her ears something specific to focus on. This group turns out to be staff from a partner conservation group, and she learns every one of their names before the conversation ends. 

It’s about an hour and one glass of champagne into the evening before she starts to get distracted. It starts as a feeling up the back of her spine, like a chill but _warm_. She turns to face it, breathing deep. As her nostrils flare, a familiar scent hits her, and she gets that feeling low in her belly: _oh, hello._

She scans the room, trying to figure it out. Her heart’s beating a little faster, and she feels her wolf getting restless as she searches, eyes and nose working together. She hears a familiar laugh (far away, farther than she’d be able to hear without her wolf-ears) and realizes that Jemma’s just arrived. She looks _fantastic_ , dressed up in heels and a blue-black dress that’s fitted on top and flares out at her waist, swishing gently across her knees. She smells amazing, even from across the room, warm and sweet and a little nervous. 

It’s an effort for Bobbi to turn herself away. She’s in the middle of a conversation with someone - not just _someone_ , Mr Ian Quinn, an entrepreneur who wants to give back - is talking about how preserving the area’s wildlife is important to him, and it’s her job to look interested and charmed. It wasn’t so hard to keep up before, but now her wolf is all but begging her to find Jemma because she smells good and Bobbi _wants_ , and every word Quinn is saying is agony. 

Bobbi takes a big breath through her mouth, doing her best to force her attention toward the smell of champagne and the cologne of the person next to her, anything but _Jemma._

It’s only minutes before she’s able to extricate herself from her conversation, but it feels like hours. 

By the time she’s finished - thanked Mr. Quinn and his generosity with his time and hopefully his donations - Jemma has moved. It takes Bobbi a few seconds to find her, leaning against the wall and chatting with Fitz. “Bobbi,” Jemma says, as she arrives, waving her over. As if Bobbi wasn’t planning to join them. 

“Hey,” Bobbi says. Up close, she can see that the fabric of Jemma’s dress isn’t just a dark blue, it’s blue with black patterning on it, little printed shapes that look almost like lace. It’s gorgeous, and the bodice fits Jemma really well. “You look nice,” she says, trying to excuse the fact that she’s almost certainly staring. “I like your dress.” 

“Oh,” Jemma says, like hearing that is a surprise. She reaches down and pats at her skirt, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. “Thank you. And you, you look -“ she pauses, eyes flicking from Bobbi’s face to the front of her dress, where the neckline meets the tops of her breasts in a V. “- I mean, you’re always gorgeous, but your dress is especially flattering today.” 

Jemma’s cheeks go bright pink as she finishes speaking, and oh, Bobbi could just eat her up. “Thanks,” Bobbi says, running her thumb across the side of her glass. “I’m glad you like it.” 

Just then, Fitz leans forward and sort of launches himself off the wall. Bobbi realizes she’d forgotten about him entirely. “Alright, ladies, well, I think I need to go over there.” He jerks his thumb awkwardly in the direction of the rest of the party, already stepping away. “Someone wants to talk to me, I bet.” 

Jemma’s eyes dart from Bobbi to Fitz and back again. She’s holding a glass of white wine, and she lifts it to take a long sip, like maybe she needs it to talk to Bobbi, alone. “So, are you, um. How are you enjoying the evening?”

Bobbi shrugs. “Oh, you know. Daisy has me talking us up to donors.”

“That sounds -“ Jemma pauses, taking a moment to choose her words. “ - actually, that sounds like it might be really dull.”

Bobbi leans forward, bringing herself down to Jemma’s height so that she can stage-whisper, “It sort of is.” 

Jemma giggles, and when Bobbi leans back she realizes that Jemma’s blushing bright red and she can smell her properly now, warm skin and thudding heart and wine and soap and nervousness. She’s so flustered, so off-balance and Bobbi knows it’s because of _her_. It’s absolutely irresistible. 

Nobody’s ever flustered around her, is the thing. She’s so used to dating wolves, where the business of flirting is virtually nonexistent. There’s an appeal to that, but there’s also something sort of refreshing about what she and Jemma are doing right now. It’s getting to Bobbi, the way Jemma’s fiddling with her cocktail napkin, wrapping it around the stem of her glass and looking away and actually _blushing_ every time Bobbi smiles. It makes her feel possessive, like she wants Jemma and _has her_ , on some level - has her interest, at least.

She’s watching Jemma, who’s watching her, and it takes Bobbi longer than it should to realize that she’s staring. She coughs, trying to break eye contact so that she can think of something to say. “I, um. I don’t mind helping Daisy out, but there’s only so many times I can hear about how nature is, like, really important, you know?”

That gets another laugh out of Jemma - a real one, not a nervous one - and she rolls her eyes. “Welcome to SHIELD,” she says. “Fortunately, you’ll only have to do this sort of thing twice a year, if that helps.”

“Well, that’s good to know,” Bobbi says. “I guess I can grit my teeth and sound interested for a few more hours.” 

Jemma turns her head, looking across the room at the tables set up for the silent auction. As she does, Bobbi gets a glimpse of her throat, bare and pale and Bobbi just wants to leave a line of bruises along the muscle there. She clenches her free hand into a fist to keep from reaching out and touching. 

“Well, at least there’s a silent auction in a bit. Then you’ll be able to make small talk about -“ Jemma pauses, squinting over at the tables “- is that a gift basket full of whiskey?”

Bobbi nods. “It’s artisanal.”

Jemma chuckles, and before she can say anything Bobbi feels a hand at her arm and it’s Melinda, interrupting in a way that’s polite but absolutely not up for debate. “Bobbi,” she says. “Daisy needs you over by the stairs.” 

Jemma nods. “Go, go, we’ll catch up later.” 

Bobbi can’t quite resist reaching out, running her fingertips along Jemma’s arm. She means it as a gentle reminder, _goodbye but I’m thinking about you_ , but she didn’t realize how much touching her was going to make things _worse._ “Of course,” she says, and her voice comes out rough. “It was good to talk to you,”

“Likewise,” Jemma mumbles. Her cheeks are pink again. If Melinda notices, she’s not saying anything about it, as she steers Bobbi away from Jemma and over to where she’s needed.

 

She finds Daisy by the stairs, texting with both hands, her clipboard tucked under her arm. She looks stressed, and that helps Bobbi pull her focus away from soft skin and warm eyes and back toward actual work. “Hey,” Bobbi says. “What’s up?”

“Oh, good,” Daisy says, “She found you. So, everything’s fine, but I have to go deal with catering for a bit, or there’s going to be a problem. Can you cover the door for a while?”

Before Bobbi can really answer, Daisy’s clipboard is in her hands and she’s looking up at Bobbi, grateful. “It’s easy, I promise. All you need to do is look like you’re in charge of things, and check the names off the list when guests arrive.”

Bobbi nods. “I can do that.” 

Daisy disappears, leaving Bobbi alone with the clipboard at the door. It takes Bobbi about four seconds to realize that she’s holding a list of every one of SHIELD’s important employees and donors; another thirty to text photos of each page back to Mack and the rest of the pack. Just in case. 

Manning the door is as simple as advertised, made easier by the fact that nearly everyone has already arrived. Bobbi checks a few late arrivals off her list, assures them that she truly hopes they enjoy the evening. 

 

It’s not long before Daisy reappears, but then it’s to steer Bobbi toward the silent auction tables. (As promised, more small talk with more lawyers, this time about the artisanal whiskey.) It’s not Bobbi’s favourite thing, but she can be good at it, for an evening. 

As she passes by the silent auction tables, though, she keeps _feeling it_ , the sense that Jemma’s eyes are on her. She doesn’t exactly catch her looking, but it - she knows it’s happening, the same way that she knows Jemma’s scent and the shape of her lips. It makes Bobbi feel restless, again, mouth watering and heart beating just fast enough that she can feel it. She’s never been good at wanting and not getting. 

 

By the time she gets another chance to be alone with Jemma, the evening’s nearly over. 

The auction has wrapped up, and the night seems to be at the mingling stage, the late-evening crowd collecting another round of drinks while others get ready to leave early. The hotel staff have opened up the long glass doors at either end of the room, which Bobbi can now see lead to large terraces - a view of green space on one side, the city on the other. 

There’s a gentle breeze coming through, just enough to ease the heat of a roomful of people and bright lights. Bobbi turns, scanning the room for a glimpse of Jemma, and as she does she catches the scent of her in the air, wafting from outside the open doors. She takes a moment, looking around for Daisy and Melinda, or anyone else who might want her to do something work-related.

There’s nobody, and before Bobbi can think about what she’s doing, she follows Jemma’s scent outside. 

Jemma’s standing on the terrace, alone. The sun’s set, and there’s moonlight enough that everything is visible in shades of grey. Bobbi can make out the shape of Jemma, sipping her drink and staring up at the sky. She’s got one elbow resting on the railing at the edge of the terrace, fingers hanging over the edge. She’s beautiful. 

Bobbi’s not supposed to think that, but she’s four drinks into a long evening of self-control and forced smiles, and frankly, she’s tired of it. She wants to flirt with Jemma, and the responsible voice in the back of her head (the one that sounds suspiciously like Mack) can go fuck itself. She walks across the terrace and leans on the railing next to Jemma, hunkering down a little so that she’s closer to Jemma’s height. “Hey, you,” she says, and nudges Jemma’s shoulder with her arm. 

Jemma starts a little, turning to look at Bobbi with surprise. “Oh,” she says, visibly relaxing once she registers Bobbi’s face. “Bobbi. Hello.”

“Hope I didn’t startle you,” she says, and she means that. She thought she was being obvious, but she’s still getting a feel for what it’s like to be around people without wolf-senses, and maybe that wasn’t obvious enough. 

Jemma shakes her head. “No, no, I was just - I get a little lost in thought, sometimes.” She turns to look at Bobbi, shifting a little on her elbows so that they’re face to face. Her expression is soft as she continues, “It’s not your fault.” 

“Good,” Bobbi says. Jemma lights up, smile wide and bright even in the dim light. Bobbi’s heart does a flip, thrilling a bit at the idea that she _did that._ “What were you thinking about?”

“Oh,” Jemma says. She reaches up with her free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, something that Bobbi’s sure is a nervous habit. “Nothing important.” 

Bobbi nudges her again. “Nothing? Seems like something, if it made you think that hard.” 

Jemma blushes, looks away. Her expression is sort of shy, and Bobbi wants nothing more than to coax her into calm, get her to open up. After a moment, Jemma sighs and says, “Space.”

Bobbi looks up. The moon is bright, waxing halfway to full. She doesn’t need to look at it to know that, anymore - not after years of being pulled by it, month after month - but staring up at it with Jemma feels like the right thing to do. “Yeah?”

Jemma _mmhmms_ an agreement. “I’ve just always been fascinated by astronomy. I mean, my first love was biochemistry, obviously, but there’s something about watching the stars that - “

She trails off, and Bobbi fills in the gap. “It always makes me feel really small. But not in a bad way, like some people talk about. Just, like - you’re there, but you’re still connected to this huge, amazing universe.”

“Exactly,” Jemma says, half-whispering.

There’s something in her voice that drags Bobbi’s eyes away from the moon. She looks down to realize that Jemma’s staring right at her, and her mouth is flushed-dark and her eyes are wide and Bobbi can hear her pulse, thudding under her skin. She lets herself look down at Jemma’s mouth, smelling white wine and the heat of her flushed skin and oh, she wants, she wants, she wants. 

(She _shouldn’t_ , is the thing. Because it’s one thing to flirt with Jemma and another thing to _start something_ , especially when Bobbi knows herself and her history of starting somethings that turn into entanglements and messiness and shouting matches at three in the morning.) 

Jemma’s lips part, and she inhales just a little, breath catching. It makes Bobbi want to devour her. She’s so close, and it would be so easy and so _good_ , and before Bobbi realizes what she’s doing they’re halfway to a kiss. 

At the last moment, she angles her head to the side and presses her lips to Jemma’s cheek. She’s trying for chaste, but Jemma’s skin is warm against her mouth and she can’t help but linger, a few beats longer than is entirely friendly. 

When she pulls away, Jemma’s watching her, eyes dark. “Oh,” she whispers. Her hand comes up almost automatically, fingertips brushing the spot where Bobbi’s mouth used to be. 

“Yeah,” Bobbi says. Her voice comes out rumbly, almost growling, because her wolf and her body and every part of her are _aching_ to kiss Jemma, to do lot more than just that, and it’s a lot of effort to keep herself under control. 

Daisy’s voice floats from inside, loud enough that she and Jemma can both hear it. She’s asking if anyone’s seen Bobbi. Bobbi coughs, almost relieved to be interrupted. “I should, um.” 

“Right,” Jemma says. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hand has moved from her cheek to just over her heart, fiddling with her necklace. 

Bobbi wants to go but she doesn’t, her wolf doesn’t, and it’s - _god,_ this is why she ends up making bad decisions. “Hey, so I - “

“Yes,” Jemma answers, too quickly, too eager. 

Bobbi takes a breath. “I was thinking I could call you, sometime. If you’re interested.”

Jemma stands, so that she’s fully upright instead of leaning. She’s got her body angled towards Bobbi, eyes wide and dark and she’s watching Bobbi’s lips like they’re the most important thing in the world, right now. “Absolutely,” she says. “I could give you my number, if you’d like?”

Bobbi nods. She produces her phone, hands it to Jemma at arms length. She needs a little distance between them, because Jemma’s cheeks are flushed and her heart is beating fast. Bobbi just wants to _have her_ , all of her, and it’s really hard to not. Jemma taps her number into Bobbi’s phone and hands it back, smiling. “There,” she says. “All yours.” 

Bobbi takes her phone back. “Thanks,” she says. She takes a breath, about to say more, when Daisy appears from inside the event space. Her eyes flick from Bobbi to Jemma and back again, taking in the terrace and the two of them, blushing and standing just a little too close together.

“Bobbi, hey,” she says. “I need to steal you for one last thing.” 

Bobbi nods. “On it,” she says. Before she leaves, she reaches out, touches Jemma’s shoulder. “Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” Jemma says, and her hand reaches halfway to her shoulder before she stops, like she’s catching herself. The movement turns into an awkward sort of wave, and Bobbi shouldn’t find it cute, but on Jemma, it is. 

 

Bobbi lets Daisy lead her away, manages another hour of thanking guests for their generosity, helping with takedown, saying goodbye to Daisy, going home. By the time she gets to her apartment, her feet are throbbing (the heels she wore are comfortable, but not six-hours-of-standing comfortable) and she’s exhausted. 

She should want to go to bed. She knows she should go to bed, and she sits on the edge of it, easing off her shoes and sighing out relief as she rubs feeling back into her toes. But her groin and her heart and her head are still screaming _want_ , jittery with nervous energy from _almost-kissing_ , from the taste of Jemma’s skin. She’s too wired, too restless to actually sleep. 

She all but tears off her dress, going straight for the workout gear she wears when she’s on her way to shift. She needs to run. 

 

When she gets to her usual spot, she lands hard, already half-jogging as her body settles from legs and arms to limbs and paws. It’s been a dry week, and she can feel leaves crunch under her fingertips - feet - as she starts to move. 

She doesn’t stop running until morning.


	3. Chapter Three

Bobbi is twenty-four. She’s just had a birthday (her sixth one alone) and she’s sitting in a dive bar in Roslyn, Washington, celebrating with a really terrible beer and a plate of nachos. Even by her standards, it’s pretty sad. 

She likes to think that it’s alone by choice, though. That maybe if she wanted to, she could be one of those girls who has friends that scream and buy her birthday shots and give her hugs, have parties with more than one attendee. But it’s not safe. She has a wolf inside her, and she’s still working out how to make peace with it, and she’d rather a hundred birthdays by herself than hurt someone she cares about. So she’s doing her best to enjoy her sad beer and her sad dinner, trying not to think too much about the fact that twenty four marks seven and a half years as a wolf, or wonder how many more birthdays she’ll have to spend like this. 

She’s busy picking apart her nachos - she asked for no olives, but she’s pretty sure they took the order as _extra olives_ \- when someone comes up to her table. It’s a guy. 

He’s kind of scruffy-looking, facial hair somewhere in limbo between five o’clock shadow and actual beard, wearing a t-shirt and a zip-up sweater. He’s - _hot_ is the wrong word, but sort of attractive, in a scrawny way. He leans on her table like he owns the place, and smiles at her. “So, I have to wonder,” he says. He’s got an accent - English, she’s pretty sure. “What is someone as beautiful as you doing alone in a place like this?”

He makes eye contact, and something under her skin sort of hums. She gestures with a corn chip, popping it into her mouth. “Eating,” she says. 

He wrinkles, his nose, theatrically. “You must be brave, then, eating the food from here.” 

She shrugs. “I was hungry.”

He laughs, a little. Something in his expression breaks, and he looks less like he’s flirting and more like he’s being honest as he says, “I like you.” Then, “The name’s Lance, by the way.”

“I’m Bobbi,” she says. 

They talk. Lance is terrible at flirting, but he’s doing his best, and he’s inoffensive enough that it’s not worth getting rid of him. She’s not exactly flirting back, but the longer they talk the more she _wants him_ , and she can’t totally understand why. 

There’s just something different about him - something she’s never picked up before, from anyone. It’s not his scent, or anything about his looks, but there’s something she can - she doesn’t quite know. It’s like she can _sense_ something about him, but not with any of the five she’s used to, in a way she can’t completely name. 

He’s in the middle of telling a story - “so then he looks at me, and I tell him, ‘Mate, that’s not where you stick it.’” - when she finally interrupts him. 

“What’s different about you?”

He preens, because of course he does. “Well, people have said I have many distinguishing qualities, but I -“

She narrows her eyes. “No, what’s _different._ There’s something - “

He shrugs. “Dunno, aside from the wolf thing, but then you probably already -“

“What?” she says. His eyes are wide and his face is close and she realizes that she’s leaning halfway across the table towards him. She’s also holding his forearm, gripping tightly enough to blanch the skin. 

He double-blinks. “Don’t tell me you’ve never met another wolf before.”

She hasn’t. Not ever, not in any of the states or on any of her runs, not since she first got bitten. And here he is, this _jackass_ , joking about it like it’s no big deal. He’s looking at her like it’s _easy_ , like obviously there’s some kind of secret werewolf club and her decoder ring should have come in the mail, and suddenly she’s just _furious_. At everything - at her stupid, unfair _life_ , but especially at him. “Don’t act like that makes you god’s gift, or something,” she says, tone sharp. 

“I dunno. Your _first wolf_ ,” he says, eyes wide, teasing her. She wants to hit him. She wants to kiss him. She just _wants_ , from someplace deep inside. It’s sudden, overwhelming, and before she totally realizes what she’s doing her beer is on the floor and maybe the table is too and they’re kissing. 

It’s not her first time. Not by a long way. There have been others - guys, mostly, and a few girls when she got the chance. Sometimes even in bar bathrooms, hot and sticky and hurried like this, but never like _this._ Never hungry and rushed with someone who can match her, shove for shove, bite for bite. Never with someone who looks her up and down and hums like he _gets it_ , like it’s not a surprise that she’s eager and ready to tear him apart. 

They end up in the ladies’ room with the door locked and she’s sitting on the sink, legs wrapped around his waist and rubbing up because she can feel his dick through his jeans and she wants more, more, oh god more. 

She kisses his neck roughly, biting down because it feels right, because she’s _hungry_ and something inside her wants to just eat him all up. He growls in response - not a human growl but a wolf one, low and rumbly and snarling and when she looks up, his eyes are yellow and his teeth are sharp and oh, _oh._ This explains a lot. 

She clutches at his back, nails sharpening out into claws and she suddenly realizes that it’s _fine_. That she can scratch as hard as she wants, because she won’t hurt him, won’t make him change. Something inside her unspools, and the two of them are a flurry of fingers and teeth and it’s fast and messy and ends with Lance on his back on the bathroom floor, Bobbi’s knees on either side of him. They fuck like there’s going to be a _winner_ , and it’s not like anything Bobbi’s ever done before, ever. 

 

+

 

Bobbi comes in to work as usual, the Monday after the gala. She’s still got a bit of a wolf-hangover (not bad, she rode the worst out of it out on Sunday), but Daisy’s sort of chalked everything up to the idea that Bobbi’s just not a morning person, at this point, so it’s not a big deal. Daisy’s early, already waiting at her desk, when Bobbi gets in. 

“Hey,” Bobbi says, shrugging out of her jacket and slouching down into her seat. 

“Hey,” Daisy says. “Thanks again for your help on Saturday, seriously.”

Bobbi shrugs. “No problem,” she says, flicking the power button on her computer. 

“I hope you had a good night.”

Bobbi shrugs. “Yeah, it was fun. I have to admit, getting dolled up like that isn’t really my thing, but you put on a great night.” 

“Yeah?” Daisy says. There’s something in her voice that sounds expectant, and when Bobbi looks up from her computer, she realizes that Daisy’s watching her with a familiar expression. That one that says maybe she talked to Jemma, or maybe she just noticed Bobbi’s stunning lack of subtlety, and wants _details_. 

“Yeah,” Bobbi says, as flatly as she can manage. 

“Anything that you particularly enjoyed?” Daisy asks again, fishing a little more transparently. 

Bobbi looks away. It’s a dead giveaway, but she doesn’t feel like staring Daisy down and it’s not like anything _happened_ with Jemma, not really. She shrugs, and her voice is even and neutral as she says, “You know, nothing’s really standing out. It was all really nice.” 

Daisy kind of looks sideways, like she can’t tell if Bobbi is hiding something or if there’s nothing to tell. “Right.” 

 

They settle into work - Daisy analyzing numbers from Saturday’s event, Bobbi working through media requests. They’re about halfway into the afternoon when Bobbi’s phone chirps out a text message alert. 

She’s not expecting anything from Mack - they talked on the phone just last night - and Daisy’s right across the room. She frowns, picking up her phone, and is surprised to see a message from Jemma on the screen. 

_\- Hey. :) Hope you had a good weekend._

Bobbi realizes that she’s smiling, as she taps the screen to message back. _\- Sure did. How are you?_

_\- Not bad. My labmate is driving me mad today, but I’ll cope._

_\- Fitz?_

_\- That’s the one._

_\- Oh no_ , she says, adding a little sad-faced emoji for good measure. _Anything I can do to help?_

There’s a long pause before Jemma’s reply, long enough that Bobbi sets down her phone and gets ready to keep working, when she gets another message alert. _Don’t suppose you’d want to go for a drink tonight?_ , Jemma replies.

Bobbi walked into that one. But it’s not - it doesn’t have to mean anything, and she’s allowed to have drinks with a friend, even while she’s on mission like this. _A drink sounds lovely,_ she texts back. Her ears feel hot, like maybe she’s blushing a little bit. 

Jemma replies right away. _Excellent. The Triskelion at eight?_

_Sounds good._

 

+

 

Bobbi finishes work, goes home. She spends forty-five minutes trying to pick out an outfit, much more nervous than she should be. 

She just - this isn’t a date. It’s just two coworkers who are kind of into each other, having drinks on a weeknight. But she's already all nervous energy and anticipation, thinking of being with Jemma and not being at work, not being interrupted. 

She wants to call someone about this, talk it over, but she doesn’t know who she’d call. Daisy is right out, and she can already hear what Mack would say: “Bobbi, leave it alone. You need to stay focused.” 

(She thinks about calling Hartley, who would at least give her the advice she’s looking for - _just fuck her and get it out of your system, Bob_ \- but she’s not sure that’s actually what she wants to do.)

She settles on jeans and a sweater, the navy one that’s fitted with ribbing that curves at her waist. It’s one of her favourites, and it always used to make Hunter give her the eyes, so she figures that’s something. The Triskelion isn't far from Bobbi's place, so she walks over, trying to burn off a bit of that nervousness as she goes. 

She gets there exactly on time, but Jemma’s already waiting, settled in a booth at the back with a glass of water. She’s wearing this sweet little collared blouse with a sweater on top, and she’s got her hair pulled back in a way that makes her look _elegant_. She’s also twisting the stray hairs at her nape around her index finger, nervously, and Bobbi’s suddenly glad that she spent the extra time picking out her outfit because this is _absolutely_ a date. 

She crosses the room, trying to ignore the matching nervousness in her belly. Jemma notices her as she gets closer to the table, takes in the sight of her with eyes that are more than a little interested. “Bobbi,” she says, voice bright and affectionate. “You look nice.”

“Thanks,” Bobbi says. She slides into the booth across from Jemma. “You too,” she says, and Jemma reaches up to twist her hair again. 

She’s got this expression on her face, sort of shy and sort of flattered, as she looks over at Bobbi. “I’m glad you came,” Jemma says. 

“Me too,” Bobbi answers, means it. “Sounds like you had a hell of a day.”

Jemma sighs. “Yes, a little bit.” 

Bobbi leans over, asks, “Can I buy you a drink?” Her tone is a bit theatrical, teasing. Jemma smiles in reply, and yeah, that’s what she was going for. “Then you can tell me all about it.” 

Jemma nods. “Yes, please,” she says. Her eyes keep drifting from Bobbi’s face to her mouth to her torso and back, and it’s _distracting_ for Bobbi, knowing that Jemma’s paying attention. 

Bobbi stands again, crossing over to the bar to get drinks. She orders a beer for Jemma, an old fashioned for herself, leaning over the bar a little while she waits. She can feel eyes on her, from Jemma’s direction. 

“So,” Bobbi says, once she's returned. “Tell me what’s up.”

"It's nothing, really," Jemma says, that stray hair twisting around her pinky. But despite that, she tells Bobbi the story of her day - something to do with Fitz and Romulus and anomalous math. There's no intel to gather, just a story about how they disagreed and Fitz responded in a way that sounds more than a little childish. 

The story is fine, but Bobbi's much more interested in Jemma, in the way she looks as she gets invested in storytelling. The longer she speaks, the more she seems to relax. She gestures more, rolling her eyes at Fitz's behaviour and laughing whenever Bobbi interjects with a comment, a joke. 

By the time Jemma’s finished talking, they’re both one drink in and sitting so close together that they’re almost touching. Bobbi’s thigh is resting on the vinyl of the booth seat, her hand beside it, pinky finger millimeters away from Jemma's leg. Jemma smiles. “Thank you,” she says, and god, she looks so grateful and Bobbi hasn’t done anything at all. 

“For what?”

“For listening,” she says, almost shyly. Bobbi has a sudden urge to sit Fitz down and explain some things to him about friendship and manners. 

“Of course,” she says, meaning it. “Anytime.”

Jemma turns her head, and they’re so close together that the movement means they’re nearly bumping noses. Bobbi lets herself look down at Jemma’s mouth, just for a moment, and she’s thinking really hard about how important it is to not do anything stupid, like kiss her. 

But then Jemma does something stupid for the both of them. She leans in, nose brushing against Bobbi’s. Her breath is hot as she hovers, lips just above Bobbi’s mouth, giving her ample chance to pull away. 

She doesn’t. 

Jemma’s kiss is tentative, this sweet, breathtakingly gentle thing. Her mouth is so soft, and her lips taste so good and it all feels amazing, filling Bobbi up. And Bobbi is - _god_. She can feel her wolf, inside, all eager energy and desire and she wants to tear into Jemma until their teeth click. Wants to _have her_ , the way wolves have each other. It’s been a long, long time since she did this with someone who didn’t have a wolf of their own, and the effort involved in maintaining her calm is almost physical. But it’s important, because more than she wants Jemma, she wants to be gentle right back, and make sure that she feels safe.

Bobbi exhales, hot against Jemma’s mouth. Jemma’s lips part, pliant, and Bobbi can’t quite help herself. She takes Jemma’s lower lip into her mouth and then drags teeth along it as eagerly as she dares, barely grazing the skin. 

And that’s it, that’s all she wants to do, soft and sweet and exactly the right amount of eagerness for a normal person. But then Jemma makes this sound, from deep in her throat, this little whimpering _ah_. It’s an invitation, and Bobbi’s self control only extends so far. She leans back in to kiss Jemma more deeply, tongue licking against the inside of her lips. 

Jemma whimpers again, and Bobbi can hear her heartbeat _thumpthumpthump_ , rabbit-quick in her throat. She raises one hand to Jemma’s neck, wraps her fingertips around her nape and presses the heel of her hand against her pulse point. Bobbi hears herself groan, right into Jemma’s mouth, and Jemma leans into her in response. They’re pressed thigh to thigh, and one of Bobbi’s arms is around Jemma’s waist and she wants, she _wants_. She leans forward, because oh this would be better if Jemma was on her back and Jemma’s clutching at her shoulders, hands fisting in her sweater, and - 

“Oh,” Jemma whispers. 

Bobbi stops. Her head is fuzzy with wolf-thoughts and arousal but she forces herself back to the present, to the fact that Jemma’s talking and that’s important. “What?” she says. It comes out spacey, distracted with lust. She does her best to push through it. “Is everything okay?”

“We just, um. We’re in a bar.” 

“Yeah,” Bobbi says. Jemma’s mouth is all kissed out, lips swollen and dark pink and god if she could just taste her one more time. “Yeah, we’re in a bar.” 

Jemma breathes in, sort of shakily, and reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ears. “So we should probably, um. Not get too carried away.”

Bobbi blinks, suddenly realizing, and oh _fuck_ , of course. She’s an idiot. She’s an idiot who can’t keep her wolf under control and Jemma is this soft, fragile, wonderful woman. Bobbi wants to treat her well, and instead she’s practically mounting her in a bar at nine o’clock on a Monday. _Stupid._ “Right,” she says. “Look, I, uh. I’m sorry for overstepping, I shouldn’t have -“

Before she can finish, Jemma rests her hand on top of Bobbi’s, interrupting. “No, I, um.” She pauses, and Bobbi looks up. She’s watching Bobbi with hungry eyes, as she says, “My apartment’s just around the corner. If you want to have another drink there.”

Bobbi nods. “I think I’d really like that.” 

 

The walk to Jemma’s apartment feels like the longest city block of Bobbi’s life. She’s too fidgety, too _interested_ and she can smell Jemma’s scent, knows she’s _interested_ right back and Bobbi's practically vibrating with the effort of not kissing her. 

They make it into the building, up the stairs, and Bobbi doesn’t register a single thing about Jemma’s apartment because the second the door closes, Jemma is tugging on her arm and pulling her down for a kiss. 

Bobbi doesn’t want to be too forward, but Jemma is really short to kiss like this and the angle’s not quite right and before she can really think about it, she’s picking Jemma up and pinning her against the inside of the door. Jemma sort of squeaks out a surprised little _oh_ , and Bobbi freezes. “Are you okay? Did I - do you want down?” she says. She leans down to check Jemma’s face, terrified that she’s hurt her, somehow. 

Jemma chuckles, and reaches up to pat Bobbi’s hair. Her hands are clumsy, and she sort of wriggles with her hips, rubbing them against Bobbi’s belly. “No, I - it’s fine,” she says. “Good noise.” 

“Oh,” Bobbi says, and she can feel herself smiling as she dives back down, leaving kisses across Jemma’s mouth, her jaw. Jemma grinds against her as Bobbi moves on to her throat, leaving little nips, just hard enough to bruise but never harder. With every one Jemma squirms in her arms, whispers _yes_. 

“ _Bed_ ,” Bobbi huffs against her neck. Jemma shivers in reply. And that’s - _yes_ , they both want to be there, but she meant it as a question. “I don’t - where is it?” she says. 

“Oh,” Jemma says. Her voice is breathy and a little dazed and she actually shakes her head to clear it, the ends of her hair tickling Bobbi’s nose. “It’s, um.” 

Bobbi feels Jemma’s arm move, like maybe she’s gesturing, but she’s too busy kissing into the hollow of Jemma’s throat to see where she’s pointing. “I think -“ Jemma starts, then stops speaking to groan against the top of Bobbi’s head. “- down?”

Bobbi presses one last kiss to Jemma’s neck before easing her down the wall. She waits until Jemma’s toes touch the floor and she’s sure her legs won’t wobble, before she releases her grip on Jemma’s hips. Jemma looks a little shaky as she stands, but she takes Bobbi’s hand with sure fingers, and tugs her along. Bobbi lets herself be led, down a hallway and into the next room. 

Jemma takes off her sweater first, tugging it over her head. It tugs some of her hair free from its clip, messy and begging to be touched. Bobbi reaches out to fix it, undoing the clip and letting Jemma’s hair fall loose around her face. She runs her fingers through it a few times, letting herself breathe in waves of scent - Jemma and shampoo and warmth. She feels amazing, smells amazing, and Bobbi feels like she could touch her like this for days. 

She’s interrupted in her thoughts by a soft groan, and she realizes that Jemma’s got her eyes closed, shirt half-unbuttoned as she leans into Bobbi’s touch, and that’s, _oh._ That’s something. She runs her fingers through Jemma’s hair one last time before stepping back, giving her space to undress. 

It also gives her space to take in the sight of Jemma, wearing jeans and her bra. The line of her belly is soft and inviting and her skin looks like it needs to be touched and Bobbi’s sure she’s staring, but she can’t help herself. She looks delicious. Jemma takes a step towards Bobbi, closing the space between them and Bobbi realizes that Jemma’s sort of looking at her the same way, like she’s just as interested. Her hands find the bottom of Bobbi’s sweater, and she tugs at it with a quirk of her eyebrow. 

Bobbi can take a hint. 

She tugs her sweater off, and as she does, Jemma starts working at the front of Bobbi’s jeans. Her hands are nimble as she undoes the button and zip fly, and then there are fingertips ghosting across the front of Bobbi’s underwear, _almost touching_ in a way that has Bobbi bucking her hips toward her, obvious and needy and not caring one bit if Jemma knows it. Jemma tugs at Bobbi’s jeans, suggestive, and they both fumble at their own clothes until it’s Jemma in her underwear and Bobbi naked, _wanting her_ so much that she can barely stand it. 

She shoves a little at Jemma’s shoulders and she falls back easily, the backs of her knees hitting the bed. Bobbi sort of sinks down against her, trapping Jemma’s thigh between her legs and bookending Jemma’s shoulders with her hands. Jemma’s flushed from her cheeks to the tops of her breasts and, _oh yes_ , this is what Bobbi’s been wanting. 

Bobbi eases herself a little lower, one knee on the bed and the other hanging down, and leans in to kiss at Jemma’s breasts, pressing down until she leaves bruises in the shape of her teeth. 

Her teeth are blunt, human, and that’s on purpose, but every so often she runs her tongue along them to triple-check. She’s so far into this that she can’t tell how much of the wanting is _her_ and how much is _wolf_ , hitting that edge where everything feels fuzzy and animal and necessary. 

It’s good, it’s so good and Jemma’s wriggling in pleasure, flexing her thighs and sighing. Every so often, her leg will hit Bobbi’s cunt at just the right angle, and that’s _yes_ , that’s something she needs _more of._ Before she totally realizes what she’s doing, they have a rhythm going. She’s leaning forward, propped onto her elbows and not really doing much of anything but thrusting roughly against Jemma’s thigh. It’s good, but it’s not quite _enough_ and she lets out a whimper, frustrated and inarticulate. After a few moments there are fingers - Jemma’s fingers, she realizes - touching her where their bodies meet, exactly what she was missing. It’s almost enough and then it is, it’s Bobbi coming with a sigh and a groan against Jemma’s thigh, quick and eager. It’s not - she’s not _done_ , not by any means, but it settles her down enough that she can at least enjoy herself and focus a little bit more. 

She leans forward, panting a little as she comes down, finds her way back to the present. She feels Jemma's hands make contact against her back, touch soft and a little damp as Jemma's fingertips trace the length of her spine. “You’re so beautiful,” Jemma whispers. There’s a note of reverence in her voice that makes Bobbi want to shy away, somehow. 

She turns her head, eyes sliding down toward Jemma’s body and away from her face. She can see her own hips, Jemma’s thigh, the skin pink and a little slippery and now that she’s taken the edge off, she realizes that she’s basically just _humped Jemma’s leg_ on the first date and probably that’s not what normal people do. “Sorry,” she says. “I usually don’t, uh.” 

“No, it’s - “ Jemma reaches out, two fingers underneath Bobbi’s chin encouraging her to look up. “Don’t apologize. I thought it was really sexy,” Jemma says. She’s blushing bright red, so cute and so _kind_ , it’s almost more than Bobbi can handle. She’s also the _perfect_ sort of messy, hair tousled and eyes dark and yes, Bobbi absolutely needs to fuck her over and over again, to see what Jemma looks like when she’s exhausted and quivery and spent. 

She doesn’t apologize. 

Instead, she works her way up Jemma’s body, kissing at her breasts-shoulders-mouth and Jemma sighs into her, opening up and arching her back, beautiful. Bobbi keeps her there, whimpering and wanting, for as long as she can stand it before she slides her fingers into slippery warm-wet, fingertips sliding across Jemma’s clit and then inside. There’s this sound Jemma makes, the first time Bobbi slides two fingers home, and Bobbi just wants to listen to it forever.

She fucks her slow at first, fingertips angling forward until she finds the spot that makes Jemma cry out and staying there. She works into Jemma like she’s got time, letting Jemma enjoy the friction and watching every sigh, every shiver of her belly muscles as Bobbi gets her closer and closer to the edge. She keeps going until Jemma is clenching around her fingers and digging her nails into Jemma’s shoulders, shuddering out her orgasm. She makes noise as she does, loud and keening, and yeah, Bobbi’s made women come before but hearing Jemma do it just sounds _better._

She waits, gives Jemma a minute and lets her breathing slow, her thighs relax. Bobbi moves her fingers again, still inside, and Jemma sort of moans and bucks her hips and yeah, Bobbi had her pegged for someone who would want to go a few rounds. She leaves her fingers where they are and moves until she’s kneeling on the floor. Jemma looks up, realizes what she’s doing with a chuckle and a happy sigh and crosses her ankles behind Bobbi’s back. Bobbi leans in, nuzzling and then licking into Jemma and oh, she tastes so _good_ , salt-warm and wonderful and Bobbi feels like she could just do this forever. She lets Jemma come again once, twice; until Jemma is sighing, patting at the top of her head and whimpering _just a minute._

Bobbi leans back, licking Jemma off her lips and chin and trying to memorize the taste of her, the smell of her like this. Just in case. 

She makes her way back onto the bed, helps Jemma move so that they’re both lying on it properly, heads on pillows and feet all the way on. She curls around Jemma’s side, taking in the sight of her. She looks even better than Bobbi imagined she would like this, red-faced and dreamy-eyed and exhausted. There’s a light sheen of sweat across her forehead, her chest, and Bobbi feels a vague twinge of possessive pride, because she _did that_. 

She’s ready to give her a break, to let the evening finish. Really, she is. But then Jemma sort of hums, and leans over to reach for Bobbi’s hips. She tugs and Bobbi moves until she’s where Jemma wants her, on her side and facing Jemma’s body. 

Bobbi curls in close. They’re hip to hip, and Jemma is short enough that from this position, Bobbi can lean down and press a kiss to the top of Jemma’s head. She lets herself rest there, eyes closed, taking in the smell of her and the feel of Jemma warm against her lips. She’s so focused on that, she doesn’t realize what Jemma’s got planned until there’s touch against her belly, one hand sliding low across her hips and then between her legs and _oh, yes._

She’d let herself get so caught up in Jemma that she’d almost forgotten what her own body wanted, but now that she’s being touched, she remembers. Jemma’s hands are small but she’s still able to fill her up, sliding fingers inside and resting the heel of her hand against Bobbi’s clit, giving her something to move against.

Bobbi slings one leg over Jemma’s hips to give her better access, and it lets Jemma slide just a little deeper, get right where she needs to be. It’s good, and after a few moments it’s not so much Jemma fucking her as it is Bobbi rutting against her hand, holding Jemma close and god it’s everything, it’s so good, it’s _perfect._ She feels her hips snap forward and her vision goes white and she flies apart, shuddering around Jemma’s fingers and groaning. 

“You’re beautiful,” Jemma whispers, letting herself be held close. “So beautiful.” 

It’s another little while before they’re both properly finished, settled on the bed beside each other. Bobbi’s still catching her breath, a little, and Jemma’s cheeks are pink, like maybe she likes watching Bobbi come undone. “So,” Jemma says, looking at Bobbi with appreciation in her eyes. 

“ _Yeah_ ,” Bobbi says. It comes out sounding breathy, flustered, and maybe that’s not inaccurate. 

Jemma giggles, and leans up to kiss Bobbi’s chin. “Thank you for getting a drink with me tonight.” 

Bobbi feels her ears get hot, like maybe she’s blushing, a little. She chooses to respond by laughing and running her hand along the length of Jemma’s body, watching goosebumps come up. “You’re welcome,” she says. Her voice comes out rough, _possessive_ , and maybe that shouldn’t be a surprise. 

Jemma moves nearer, tucking her head into the curve where Bobbi’s shoulder meets her neck. It's nice, having Jemma close like this, feeling her body warm and soft against Bobbi's own. The whole room smells like Jemma, like the two of them and sex and it's exactly what Bobbi's been wanting this whole time. She breathes in, and lets herself enjoy the moment. 

After a little while, Jemma sighs and rolls over, cuddling close like she plans to sleep. “Oh,” Bobbi starts, without thinking. 

Jemma lifts her head to look at Bobbi, frowning a little. “Is everything alright?”

She makes a face, trying to figure out the right way to explain this. “I can’t, um.” She pauses. “I can’t stay over.” 

There are a lot of explanations, aside from the truth: _my wolf will get too attached to you if I stay_. Bobbi’s sure there are people who don’t stay over after sex, who aren’t werewolves, who manage to come up with great reasons not to stay. She just wishes she could think of some of them, right now. 

“That’s - of course,” Jemma says. “I understand.” 

“I just have to pick up something at my place before work tomorrow, and I’m really terrible at getting up early, so it’s probably better if I -“

“Of course,” Jemma replies, a little too quickly. She rolls away, but not before Bobbi catches the sadness in her expression, and that’s - she doesn’t want that. 

Bobbi reaches out, covering Jemma’s hand with her own. “Hey,” she says, waits until Jemma meets her eyes. “I really do want to stay. I just can’t tonight, that’s all.”

Jemma watches her for a few moments, but eventually her expression settles from disappointment to acceptance, and Bobbi can work with that. “Alright,” she says. 

Jemma gets out of bed and walks across the room - naked, and the sight of that is almost enough to make Bobbi pull her back for another round. She takes a robe from a hook on the back of the bedroom door and puts it on, which gives Bobbi time to find her clothes. As she collects them, she has a chance to actually notice things about Jemma’s apartment. It’s nicer than she realized, sparse and modern but full of little touches that are very _Jemma_ , all the same. 

Jemma walks her to the door, stealing little glances at Bobbi in her sweater, Bobbi’s hair (which still looks tousled in a very telling way, despite her best efforts). They linger there together, neither of them quite wanting the evening to end. “I had a really great time tonight,” Bobbi says. “We should probably do this again sometime.” 

Jemma blushes bright pink. “Yes, um. Absolutely, we should.” 

Bobbi pauses, one hand on the door. She needs to leave, she knows that. But before she does, she can't resist tugging Jemma close, hands fisting a little in the fabric of Jemma’s robe. They come together for one last kiss, slow and sweet. 

Bobbi leaves the apartment with Jemma's taste on her mouth, and walks back to her own apartment thinking of her with every step. 

 

*

 

Bobbi wakes in her own bed, stirring as the sun rises. It’s full hour before her alarm is set to go off, but she feels as awake as if she’d had a full night’s sleep. She stretches out, and as she does there’s a twinge between her legs, an achy-pleasant reminder of the night before. She rolls over, letting herself remember the bar, _Jemma_ , everything that happened after that. 

It’s not really something she could forget. The smell of Jemma is still all over Bobbi, rubbed into her skin, and she gets that familiar, vaguely possessive thrill of having _had someone_ in a way that only makes sense to her wolf. She knows that she should shower - will shower - but for a moment, she wishes she didn’t need to. 

Eventually, she talks herself into rolling out of bed, showering, finding clean clothes that don’t smell like sex. She leaves with enough time to walk to work, and lets herself linger outside a little bit. It’s a good day, and she wants to take her time enjoying it. 

When she steps into the elevator of the building that houses SHIELD’s offices, Jemma’s already inside, coming up from the parking level. Bobbi starts a little, before she can stop herself from reacting. Jemma, for her part, flushes bright red. “Bobbi,” she says, in this soft little voice that makes Bobbi want to kiss her breathless all over again. 

Bobbi can smell her arousal, hear her heart rate increasing, and it’d make her feel smug if she didn’t feel exactly as undone and flustered, herself. 

A few other people get on with Bobbi on the main floor, and she ends up across the elevator from Jemma. She’s trying not to stare too obviously, but it’s hard when she can practically _feel_ Jemma’s interest, the way she’s clearly thinking of last night, herself. She doesn’t notice Fitz get on with them, but she does notice when he does a double-take after greeting Jemma, staring openly at her neck. “Jesus,” he asks, sounding horrified. “What happened to you last night?”

Jemma blushes even deeper, and lifts a hand to her neck. Bobbi realizes that there are bruises all the way down, more than she’d thought she left, and maybe she did get a little more carried away than she’d thought. “Nothing, _Leo_ ,” Jemma says primly. 

Fitz rolls his eyes, says, “Fine, then.” 

But Bobbi can’t stop looking, now that she’s seen the bruises. And it’s - she doesn’t like seeing Jemma hurt, it’s not that. But there’s something about realizing that’s she’s _marked_ , that there are signs Jemma was _hers_ , that Bobbi can’t quite stop thinking about. It’s distracting, so much so that Bobbi misses her floor. 

Despite having to backtrack through an unfamiliar hallway and down the stairs to her office, Bobbi arrives before Daisy. She takes advantage of the time to herself to send Jemma a text. _\- Sorry about your neck. I didn’t mean to cause you problems._

Jemma’s reply is a winky emoji and the little fire symbol, then, _trust me, I don’t mind at all. And I can handle Fitz, don’t worry about it._

She sends another message, a few minutes later: _\- Last night was worth enduring a little teasing. ;)_

Bobbi sits there for a long while, thinking about the woman downstairs with the marks all over her body, the way she sounded and felt the night before. It's not until Daisy arrives at work that she's able to pull her focus back to the fact that she has a job, and that probably it's more important than daydreaming.


	4. Chapter Four

Bobbi is twenty six, and she’s living just outside of Driftwood Acres, in a co-op with forty-odd other wolves. She spends her days working at the gas station down the road, selling cigarettes and keeping an eye on the people passing through, her nights mostly in bed with Hunter. 

She’s met Gonzales, of course. Everyone’s met him, he’s - _alpha_ is the wrong word, but he’s the oldest wolf and he’s been there the longest, helped set up the housing co-op and all the systems the pack uses to stay safe. He introduced himself on that first day, when Hunter brought Bobbi back to his place and showed her around (after she and Hunter devoured each other in the backseat of his truck, before they did it again on the kitchen counter in Hunter’s place), and she sees him, the same way she sees everyone else who lives there. 

She’s twenty six when Gonzales calls her in to meet with him, to talk about _opportunities with the pack._ It takes her a minute to realize what he means. She already pulls her weight, pays her share to the co-op and helps out when people need it, works at the gas station run by the pack. This isn’t a lecture about any of that. Instead, it’s him quietly noticing that she has certain _special skills_ , and asking her if she’d like to use them. 

It takes her a minute before she understands what he’s getting at, but no longer. She’s always had a knack for blending in, for fitting into places like she belongs there. She’s had the experience, too - being Tammy from Texas one week, Julie from Iowa the next, moving from town to town. It’s always come sort of naturally. Gonzales notes that, makes observations about how good she is at all of it, how sometimes the pack needs people to do things that require special skill sets. “How would you like to get the chance to use those skills of yours?”

She frowns. “You mean, like, be a spy?”

He chuckles, in that gravelly way he has. “I guess, in a manner of speaking.”

“What would I have to do?”

“There’s a new group of wolves moving through the area, up near Chelan Falls. We need a few people to go up and get a sense of them.”

“Get a sense of them,” she parrots back, searching. She can’t read his expression. That's probably intentional on his part - necessary for a pack leader - but she finds it nerve wracking, nonetheless. 

“Mack and Hartley have already agreed to go, so, you’d be in good company,” he says, running a hand along the top of his walking stick. He’s observing her, waiting to see how she reacts, and all she wants is to give him the right answer. 

“Would I be able to tell -“ she pauses, regrouping. She wants to ask about Hunter, because maybe he’s not the most unobtrusive guy in the world but he’s sort of hers, all the same. But if Gonzales wanted Hunter to be in on this, he’d probably have asked him, and she just - she wants to help. She finally settles on asking, “Can anyone else know about this?”

He smiles indulgently, like he knows that _anyone else_ means _Hunter._ He shakes his head. “Is that going to be a problem, Barbara?” he asks. He’s one of about three people who can call her _Barbara_ and get away with it, these days. 

She takes a minute, to consider. Because maybe it would be a problem, maybe Hunter wouldn’t like her spying or having secrets, but the thing is, it sounds _fun_. It sounds important, and like a way to help the pack, and god she’s still so grateful to Gonzales for even _existing_. Let alone taking her in and giving her a place to stay after she rolled up with Lance, messy and awkward and barely in control of her wolf. 

When she nods her agreement, she’s sure. 

“What would I have to do?" she asks. 

 

+

 

Bobbi’s never been the best at balancing work and relationships, and now is no exception. Not that she thinks what’s going on between her and Jemma is a _relationship_ , not really, but it’s enough of _something_ to make her distractible. 

She makes it through her workday, but it’s a near thing. She has spreadsheets to update, and press inquiries to respond to, but she catches herself staring at her laptop and thinking about Jemma more often than she should. Everything feels fuzzy, blurred around the edges, because there’s work she has to do for Daisy and work she has to do for Gonzales and now there’s Jemma, somewhere in between it all. 

Jemma, who’s _adorable_ , and having sex with her didn’t do anything to lessen the way Bobbi feels when she catches her scent. Jemma, who blushes every time she’s in a room with Bobbi, and texts that she’s thinking about Bobbi at exactly the right times. Jemma, who’s the best kind of distraction. 

It’s a Thursday when she actually gets the chance to spend time with Jemma again, and once again it’s Daisy’s idea. 

They’re doing another release on Romulus, a more detailed one. Daisy sends her back down to the lab (this time with a meaningful look and a wink) for a demonstration, to find out exactly how Romulus looks in action. It's something she would have agreed to do on a usual day, but now with the added prospect of spending time with Jemma, she's all but volunteering. 

 

Bobbi knows her way around the lab, now, at least for the most part. She knows the most important things: enough to make it through those double doors and through the rows of equipment to Jemma’s workstation. 

Jemma’s working at her laptop today, no lab coat or goggles, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. Bobbi has a sudden, fleeting mental image, of tugging at Jemma's shirt fronts until the buttons pop off. 

“Hey,” Bobbi says, leaning with her hip against Jemma’s desk. 

“Bobbi,” Jemma says, eyes flicking between Bobbi’s mouth and her chest, cheeks colouring just a little. 

“I was wondering if I could borrow you for a few minutes?” she asks. 

It comes across as a bit more flirtatious than she’d intended, judging by the way Jemma responds with a half-smile. “Absolutely, Ms. Morse.” 

Bobbi’s mouth goes dry, and has to remind herself that she is _at work_ and that is not a place for kissing. “I, um. I had some questions about Romulus, for the next release we’re doing. I was wondering if I could get a demonstration?”

Jemma nods. “Oh, absolutely. I can - there’s a terminal set up in the back where it’s easiest to show you, if that’s alright?”

Jemma's voice is all business, but there's a glint in her eye that's not entirely work-appropriate, as she turns and indicates that Bobbi should follow. 

The room with the Romulus terminal is less impressive than Bobbi had imagined. She realizes she'd taken to thinking of it as something polished, dangerous, like something out of a science fiction movie. What she actually finds is a slightly elderly computer in a little back room. There's a post-it on the side of the monitor that reads _ROMULUS - don't touch!!_ in messy handwriting. 

On the wall above the Romulus monitor, there's an enlarged map of the Snoqualmie Falls area, and another that represents parts of the forest to the north. "This is it?" Bobbi asks. "Somehow I was expecting something - I don't know. Shinier." 

"It's perfectly serviceable," Jemma says. There's a bit of a defensive note to her voice, but she's smiling at Bobbi as she logs in to the terminal and gets things set up. 

When the computer finally finishes loading Romulus, it's both better and worse than she'd imagined. The imaging itself is pretty basic - a static topographical map of the area depicted on the wall - with ten or twelve blinking data points, moving loosely in a pack. She recognizes the area as outside the bounds of where her pack ranges, but not by much. She doesn't know what to say. 

"So, this is it. The Romulus system can of course be scaled in due course, but right now we're able to follow a particular pack consistently, without needing to go into the field and put wolves through the stress of being tagged individually." 

"Wow," Bobbi says. She does her best to keep her tone neutral, but she can't quite stop herself from feeling the wave of anxiety at the thought of this technology used to keep track of her, of her packmates. “You mentioned, um. Scalability?”

Jemma lights up, voice bright and eager. She's happy, excited to be talking about her work. It gives Bobbi space to breathe, to think of ways to keep her talking and gather as much as information as she can. “Yes, absolutely," Jemma says. "I mean, we’d need access to detailed ground-level satellite imaging, which we don’t have at the moment, but I think with some good partnerships it wouldn’t be too difficult to expand - we’d be looking at Northeastern Washington, first, as that’s the area with the highest density of confirmed pack activity, but you never know.” 

"Oh," Bobbi says. "That must be really exciting."

“I think so,” Jemma says. 

She looks at Bobbi with interest. Bobbi feels tense, torn between the information that she needs to gather for Daisy and the information that's important for her pack and the awful, gnawing guilt of feeling like she's _using_ Jemma, at least a little. 

She needs Jemma to keep talking. She keeps asking questions. “Who has access to this right now?”

Jemma shrugs. “Just Science Division, Fitz and I and a few techs.” 

Bobbi nods, trying to seem like her interest is only casual. “Anyone offsite?” 

Jemma starts to shake her head, _no_ , then catches herself. “Well, there’s -“

“Who?” Bobbi asks. 

“The person who used to work in your job, before he - he had some disagreements with Director Coulson, in terms of his approach, but before he left he was down here a few times.”

Nobody ever talks about the person who used to have Bobbi’s job, and this is the first she’s heard of him taking an interest in Science Division. “Huh. I didn't know that about - what was his name, again?” 

“Grant Ward,” Jemma says, then sort of shudders. “To be quite honest, I’m happy that he stopped working here.” 

“Yeah?”

Jemma shakes her head, as if trying to clear Grant Ward from her thoughts. "He wasn't very nice to work with," she says, with finality. "You're a much better replacement. For several reasons." 

Bobbi feels her cheeks grow warm at the compliment, despite her best efforts. “You said this is based on infrared signatures, right?”

“Exactly.” 

“What happens to the signal if a wolf gets sick, or dies?”

Jemma tilts her head, the way she does when she’s thinking of how best to explain a complicated problem. “We have had some anomalous data inputs that, to be honest, we’re still trying to reconcile.” 

“How so?” Bobbi asks. 

“Well, that’s why the system is still very much a prototype. We have had some inputs that we’re fairly certain are wolves, and they seem to be healthy, stable animals, but we’ve had trouble with losing signal that - it’s not important for your purposes, but it’s been tricky to account for that using our current algorithms.” 

Bobbi nods, throat tight. There's a pack she knows, just south of the Falls that overlaps a little with the Romulus territory. She's gone for drinks with some of them. She thinks about them out for runs, enjoying themselves, paws flying through leaves and dirt and clean air. It's hard to hear that boiled down into _data points_ , _anomalous inputs_. She takes a deep breath, forcing herself calm. “That sounds frustrating,” she says. 

Jemma shrugs. “If it was easy to figure out, they wouldn’t need Fitz and I to work on it.” It’s matter-of-fact, the way she says it, the quiet confidence in her own ability. 

Bobbi turns to her, trying to force a smile. "You sound pretty confident," she says. 

"I am," Jemma replies, nudging at Bobbi's elbow. 

This is it again, that balance thing. Because Bobbi's head is swirling with facts, people she needs to contact and ways to mitigate risk and that name: _Grant Ward._ But when Jemma nudges her, she looks over and just gets struck all over again by how _pretty_ she is. She's still got marks down the side of her throat, bruises fading to pale yellow, nearly healed. Her scent is in the air between them, and Bobbi's suddenly very, very aware of how close together they are. 

Jemma is the one who closes the distance between them, and her mouth is just as inviting as it was the last time Bobbi tasted it. Bobbi melts into the kiss, despite everything that’s going on, despite her better judgement. One of her arms finds Jemma’s waist, holding her close. She licks into Jemma’s mouth, trying to focus on the feel of that. It feels easy, it feels clear, and that's something Bobbi needs, right now. 

Jemma reaches up, brushing her palm across Bobbi’s cheek, the side of her ear, nails scratching gently at the side of her scalp. Bobbi groans, and it’s so _good_ she can feel her wolf rising to the surface, saying _yes please_ , and this is not the time or place to let herself get like that. 

She tears her mouth away from Jemma’s, gasping. “No more kissing,” she says against Jemma’s cheek, as forcefully as she can manage. 

Jemma leans back to look Bobbi in the eye. “Why?”

Her expression is so guileless, trusting, that it makes Bobbi ache. “Because if we keep kissing, we’re going to end up doing a lot more than is work-appropriate on this desk.” 

Jemma blushes bright red. “I suppose that would be a problem,” she says, but her eyes say that maybe she wouldn’t mind doing it anyway. 

“Yeah,” Bobbi says. 

Jemma leans her head against Bobbi’s shoulder, catching her breath, and Bobbi does her best to do the same. She feels so _fucked up_ \- aroused and happy from Jemma, scared to death of Romulus and what it means and what the pack might ask her to do about it, all at the same time. 

She’s getting that sinking feeling, that familiar one - like this is something that’s going to end badly. But she doesn't want to think about that, not while Jemma's in her arms and things are alright, at least for now. Instead, she presses her nose against the top of Jemma’s head, and breathes. 

 

+

 

Mack is waiting in her apartment that night, ready for their usual check in. Bobbi feels - she doesn’t know. She’s got too much in her, under her skin, jittery from kissing Jemma and anxious about lying to her and angry about Romulus and how dangerous it could turn out to be. She needs a run, then a shower, and maybe after that she’ll be okay to talk. 

But instead, there’s Mack, sitting at her kitchen table with a beer already open for her, smiling. It’ll have to do. 

“How’d it go this week?” he asks. 

Bobbi sits, takes a long drink. She thinks about everything that’s happened since she last saw him - some work, and that night with Jemma in big bold letters, at the top of the list. She takes a breath, and lies. “Alright,” she says. “Nothing too interesting. Got some good intel today, so that’s something.” 

He sizes her up, breathing in. His nostrils flare, and she remembers - of course - Jemma's scent is all over her, rubbed into her skin from this afternoon. “How’d you gather this intel?” he asks, watching her carefully. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Bobbi says. She doesn't meet his eyes, and it's a tell, but she's never been able to lie well to Mack, anyway. 

Mack sighs. “You know you need to be careful, right?”

Bobbi does her best to roll her eyes, look cavalier. Like Jemma’s scent all over her is no big deal. But her stomach is knotted up, nervous about what Mack’s going to say. She already knows what she’s going to hear. “I’m always careful,” she says. 

Mack gestures to the chair beside him, inviting Bobbi to sit. It's a gesture, makes it clear that he's not trying to get angry with her over this. She appreciates it. “Which one is she?” he asks, gently. 

“Jemma,” she says automatically, as she sits. It takes her a moment before she realizes that a name won’t mean anything to him. “The, uh, the woman from science division.” 

Mack nods. "So, what did you get?"

He means _information_ , and it's a change in subject, a peace offering. Bobbi appreciates it. That, she can talk about. “I took a look at Romulus today," she says. 

“And?”

“It’s - I don’t know. It’s still early, pretty small scale, but they can see pack wolves.”

“Do they know what they’re dealing with?”

Bobbi shakes her head. “No, no. They’re writing it off as anomalous data, sounds like they think it’s a glitch in their technology rather than anything real, but their satellite area is right over that pack that lives near the Falls.” 

Mack frowns. "The one just south of us?"

“Yeah, that's the one. Why?” Bobbi asks. 

“The Falls pack lost someone on the weekend. You remember Kara?”

Bobbi nods. She didn’t know Kara well, but she remembers a dark-haired girl with a quick smile and a wolf that could outrun nearly anyone, and that’s enough. “What happened?”

Mack shrugs. “Nobody knows for sure, but the pack hasn’t heard from her in four days, and that’s not good.” 

Bobbi thinks for a moment. “I got a name you should look into. Grant Ward?”

Mack shakes his head. “Never heard of him.” 

“He used to work at SHIELD, and he knows about the Romulus technology. Sounds like things didn’t end well.” 

“That’s as good a lead as any,” he says. “I’ll follow up.”

They’re quiet for a while, sipping their drinks. Bobbi usually enjoys this, the feeling of having another wolf in the room, the companionable sort of quiet that always settles over her apartment when Mack comes to visit. But she knows there’s more of a lecture coming about Jemma, knows Mack can hear her heartbeat coming fast while she waits for it. 

“So this woman,” he says, after a silence long enough to make Bobbi good and nervous. “You got a handle on it?”

Bobbi looks away. She absolutely does not have a handle on it; she’s messy and smitten with Jemma and it’s the worst, best possible thing. “I do. I am, I just -“ she looks down, staring into her lap. When she speaks again, it’s almost a whisper, small and girlish. “My wolf likes her, Mack.” 

Mack sighs. She can hear him moving his chair over, until they're close enough to be touching. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her into his side. His body is solid against her, comforting, and she can feel herself relaxing at the contact. “Who’s in charge of you, Barbara? You, or your wolf?”

Bobbi’s heart sinks. He’s right - she knows he’s right, has always known that this was a bad idea. Mack always makes self-control look so easy. “It’s fine,” she says. 

“It’s not fine,” he says back, tone a little bit sharper. “She can’t know about this, about any of this. You know that. What’s the point of getting attached when you’re just going to have to leave once this is all over?”

She doesn’t know. There is no point, except the taste of Jemma under her tongue and her soft skin and the way Bobbi feels when she presses her nose to Jemma’s throat and breathes in deep. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be something that -“

“How much do you think she’s going to trust you once she finds out what you are? Enough that you’re willing to risk your safety? The safety of the pack?”

He’s right. He’s so fucking right, and it’s making her frustrated in a way that’s right under her skin, pricking behind her eyes. She doesn’t want to cry about this, not ever, but especially not in front of Mack. “Okay,” she says. “Okay.”

Mack squeezes her shoulders, comforting. She feels sick. “You know what you need to do,” he says. “Take care of it. I’ll look into this name and see what I can dig up.” 

Mack leaves, and then Bobbi’s alone in her apartment, halfway through her beer and _furious_. At Mack, at Jemma, at Hunter, at everything that’s going on right now. She wants - something. She wants to hit something, or scream, or call Hartley and go bar-hopping until they’re both numb and laughing. 

Since she can’t do any of those, she goes for a run. 

 

+

 

She runs thinking of Jemma, thinking of the way she smells and the way that holding her feels like running, flying between trees, and it’s wolf-thoughts and Bobbi-thoughts all mixed together and she’s got so much inside of her that she runs until it’s almost dawn. 

She smells city, smells coffee and domestic dogs and gasoline and something sweet, as she lopes back toward her shifting spot. The pads of her feet are sore and she’s panting a little as she trots alongside the pavement of the jogging trail, scenting the trees that lead her back to where she can shift again. She lifts her head, breathing in. She catches the scent of something new - different but familiar and good and _safe_ , somehow. She pads to a stop, thinking about hands and music and eggs-and-coffee instead of rabbit meat, and feels her shift start. The landscape changes, as she goes from all-fours to two long legs, and then oh. 

_Oh._

Bobbi's head is fuzzy in that way it always is right after a shift, so it takes her a minute to orient herself. She hears a soft gasp - the sort of gasp that sounds human, _not_ in Bobbi’s voice. Her vision is blurry, still transitioning from wolf-spectrum to the resolution and colour of her own eyes. She shakes her head, blinking a few times, and when her vision finally registers she realizes this: Jemma is there. Jemma is standing in front of her, and Bobbi is naked post-shift and Jemma just _saw her_ and there is absolutely no way to explain any of this away.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Jemma says. It’s the first time Bobbi’s ever heard her swear, and it would be adorable if it wasn’t happening right now, like _this._

“Jemma,” she says. Her voice feels clumsy, her throat and tongue still adjusting from yips and howls to words. “Jemma, I -“

“Oh my goodness. This is -“ Jemma stops, mouth opening and closing. Her face is ghost-white, like she might faint, and her hands are shaky as she brings them up to tuck her hair behind her ears on both sides. Bobbi doesn’t know what to do. Her wolf has basically managed to process “we’re naked” and “Jemma” and she feels it in her groin, in her breasts, and that is _not_ helpful, at all. 

“Jemma, it’s -“

“You’re that _wolf_ ,” she finally manages. “The one that keeps disappearing. Fitz and I have spent the last two weeks trying to account for anomalous data because of you.” 

“That's not completely - “

“You’re _very_ naked. Are you always this naked?” Jemma’s eyes drop down, from Bobbi’s face to her chest and then lower. She blushes bright red and takes off her sweatshirt, handing it to Bobbi. It’s too small, and the sleeves are about four inches too short, but Bobbi slides it on and manages to zip it up far enough to cover at least part of her breasts. Jemma sighs. “I don’t have any extra trousers, I -“

“Jemma,” Bobbi finally says. She’s found her voice, and manages to keep it firm and even as she reaches forward and touches Jemma’s arm. Her skin is hot - from running, Bobbi realizes, Jemma was out for a run - and at Bobbi’s touch, their eyes meet. “It’s okay. I have clothes.”

“You’re a wolf?”

“I’m a wolf.”

“You didn’t tell me,” Jemma says, and Bobbi is standing bare-assed next to a jogging trail at five in the morning, she _can’t_ right now. 

“I didn’t, but I can explain. I will explain. I just - I need to get my clothes. I need to shower. I need to get to work.” 

“Right. Right, we have work,” Jemma says, absently. Her expression is distant, like she’s kind of freaking out. It's reasonable, it's the normal human reaction to seeing something impossible, but Bobbi wants so badly to be able to fix it. 

“I also need you to do me a favor. I need you to not tell anybody. Not even Daisy. Can you do that?”

Jemma’s eyes slide back to Bobbi’s, and her expression snaps back into focus. She nods, and for a moment she actually seems like herself. “Of course,” she says, like that’s obvious. 

“Okay,” Bobbi sighs back, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious relief from her voice. 

She turns away, back to the spot where she stashed her clothes. It’s not far, just off the jogging trail from here, and god if she’d waited another few minutes to shift she could have avoided this, what is her _problem._

Bobbi’s so preoccupied with self-flagellating, she barely notices that Jemma follows her, that Jemma is watching as she tugs on her pants and shoes. She checks her watch: 5:20. 

“Do you do this a lot, then?” Jemma asks. Her tone has slipped back to that nervous pitch, the one that makes Bobbi feel like she should probably leave town. 

“Not, um - what do you mean by a lot?” 

Jemma shakes her head, as if to clear it. “I don’t - I’m not sure. Sometimes when I’m nervous I start making inappropriate small talk.” 

God, this is such a fucking _mess._ Bobbi can feel panic start to rise in her own throat, knot behind her chest, as she thinks of all the ways this could go even worse. Everything Mack said to her the night before comes right back, and she can’t help thinking about how he was _right._ , how she hates that he was. She just wants to fix this, to make it something that Jemma could be okay with. 

More than anything, though, she wants Jemma to stop looking at her the way she is right now. Like Bobbi’s something to be scared of. Like she’s not sure how she’d react if Bobbi moved closer and offered her a hug. “Are you going to be okay?” Bobbi asks, keeping her distance. 

Jemma nods. “I think so, yes.”

“Do you - Can I talk to you? Later today?” Bobbi asks. Jemma nods. “Can you keep this to yourself until then?”

Jemma promises, again. Her expression isn’t any less unsettled, but she looks sincere and speaks like she means it. That’s something, the kind of thing that makes Bobbi’s chest unknot a little. At least she trusts Bobbi that much, for now. 

 

+

 

Bobbi drags herself into work three hours later. She’s off - half from a particularly vicious wolf hangover, half because she’s so worried that Jemma’s going to tell someone about her that she can hardly focus. Not that she’d know if Jemma did - not until Animal Control or the news media or god forbid her _pack_ showed up to take her away - but she worries all the same. Trusting that Jemma trusts her feels too easy. 

She staggers through the workday on legs that are too long with knees in the wrong place, stomach churning. She’s _ravenous_ , but the smell of everything makes her feel sick, and after a few hours, the sound of everyone in the building makes a headache settle behind her eyes. There’s a reason she likes to nap after a shift, and it’s this. 

She’s sick once - in the bathroom, as discreetly as she can manage - but otherwise she makes it through the workday intact, with only a few odd looks from Daisy. 

But the time five o’clock rolls around, Bobbi’s mostly back to herself. She’s managed to track down her usual regimen for a hangover - roast beef sandwich, Advil, black coffee - and that’s helped, a lot. On her way out, she swings by the lab, and over to Jemma’s desk. She doesn’t text ahead, just in case. 

 

The lab is empty except for Jemma, working on something at her desk. She’s got her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, lab coat sleeves rolled up to her elbows, focusing intently on whatever she’s doing. Bobbi inhales, letting Jemma’s scent hit her nostrils, and for moment, it feels like everything is still alright. 

“Hey,” Bobbi says softly, from a few feet away. She’s doing her best not to startle Jemma, but Jemma jumps in surprise all the same. Bobbi’s brought Jemma’s jogging sweater, the one she was wearing this morning. She holds it out in front of herself, an offering. “I wanted to give this back to you. Thanks.” 

Jemma looks at the sweater, then back at Bobbi, and blushes bright red. “Oh, thank you,” she says, but her voice swings up about three octaves, tight with anxiety. 

Bobbi feels her heart sink. Of course this had to happen, like this, with someone she actually liked.


	5. Chapter Five

Bobbi is sixteen, and she’s just made lacrosse captain. She’s giddy as she goes to evening practice - the Outlaws are going to make State this year, she can feel it - and even giddier when she finishes, because Justin Harkness told Stephanie that he thought she was hot and he’s _dreamy._

She gets her bag, she laces up her shoes, she walks home. 

It doesn’t feel any different than her usual walks. Maybe a little brighter, because the moon is full tonight, but that’s all. She remembers crossing the street by the park, two blocks from home, and then a flurry of movement and impact against her side and sharp teeth burying themselves in her skin. She remembers kicking, remembers calling out for help and one of her neighbours coming out with a broom to scare it away. 

_Attacked by a stray dog_ , that’s what the local paper says the next day. Even when she tells them, over and over, that it wasn’t. It was a wolf, she tells everyone, but the doctors tell her there are no wolves in Manitowoc, that she was probably just scared. Either way, she ends up in the emergency room with thirty-three stitches in her leg and a wolf in her bones. 

(The wolf is a surprise.)

She figures it out - the bit about the wolf - four weeks later, when the next full moon hits and she wakes up exhausted and naked in the woods across town, holding a half-eaten dead rabbit. 

(Well, not exactly. The first few times, she’s pretty sure she’s been abducted by aliens. It takes three or four moons before she finally starts to remember, and another year after that before she starts to feel like she can control it, a little.)

 

+

 

Bobbi is twenty-three. It’s October, and she’s waitressing in her tenth small town this year. The staff at the diner all call her Laura (last month, last town, it was _Katie_ ), and smile when she smiles. She remembers her moons now, all of them, and sometimes she’s grateful but other times she wishes she wouldn’t. She remembers the hunt, remembers the night she found a bunch of kids camping and the fight she had with her wolf, standing over a boy her age and willing her very hardest _don’t bite don’t bite don’t bite_. 

(That was four states and four months ago, but she still gets nightmares.) 

The full moon starts tomorrow, and she’s got a bus ticket for three days after that and a new small town all picked out, someplace in Washington state. 

 

++

 

Bobbi is thirty-two. She’s standing in the ladies’ room in the lab area of SHIELD with the door locked, explaining to Jemma why she saw her turn into a wolf this morning. 

They’ve talked it over a few times - Bobbi patient and calm, Jemma nervous and high-pitched and _trying_ , which might be the worst part. Bobbi’s expecting a shouting match, accusations and maybe some name-calling and a fight that echoes off the walls. Instead, Bobbi explains, and Jemma blinks and nods and works so hard to stay calm, to accept this as fact and be understanding. It’s clearly a struggle for her, but she’s working at it, and watching her gives Bobbi an unfamiliar feeling: grateful and guilty and upset, all at once. 

At least if Jemma was shouting, Bobbi would know how to react. 

They spend a half hour in the bathroom, talking in circles and getting nowhere. It’s starting to get late, and Jemma looks exhausted, in addition to her nerves. Finally, Bobbi says, “Let me take you for dinner. Maybe drinks? It’ll help.” 

“You’re asking me on a date?” Jemma says. It’s not really a question, but she’s still so in shock that her voice is lilting up at the end of every sentence, disbelieving. 

“Sort of, I guess.”

“So that we can talk a little more about how you can turn into a wolf.”

Bobbi shrugs. “Basically.”

“What are you? Are you - you’re not a werewolf, I checked, the full moon isn’t for another week and a half. Are you a witch?” Jemma leans back and sort of sinks against the wall for support. “Oh, my god, listen to me. I’m probably just going mad. Maybe we’re going mad together - it’d be nice to have company, I suppose.” 

“Actually, the full moon is a common misconception. We’re tied to the moon at first, but after a few years most people -“

“You’re a _werewolf,_ ” Jemma says, interrupting. “An actual werewolf.” 

Bobbi nods. They've had this part of the conversation a couple of times already, but every time it seems to stick a little better. 

“Jesus bloody christ.” Jemma runs a hand through her hair, slicking it back against her forehead. She looks pale, and her heart’s racing so fast that Bobbi’s a little worried she’ll faint. 

She reaches out to touch Jemma’s shoulder. Jemma doesn’t flinch, which is a relief. “Please, let me get you a beer? I didn’t mean to - I feel really awful for freaking you out. I’d like to make it up to you.”

Jemma nods, wordlessly. It’s a start. 

 

Bobbi takes Jemma back to the Triskelion, and if Jemma notices, she doesn’t say anything about it. Bobbi gets her settled in a corner table, near the back, and goes to fetch them both drinks. 

Jemma takes her beer and finishes it in silence. It takes her all of five minutes. When she’s finished, she closes her eyes, and takes a breath. “Actually, that did help quite a lot.” 

“Let’s get some food in you, too,” Bobbi says. “It’s hard to process this stuff on an empty stomach.” 

Jemma nods. “That would actually be - yes, please.” 

Bobbi gets them something to eat - a basket of fries and an excessively large plate of nachos, and they work on the food from either side, in silence that’s someplace between _tense_ and _companionable._

“So, how was work today?” Jemma asks, after a while. Her tone is a little sarcastic, but she’s looking at Bobbi with gentle eyes, like maybe this is a peace offering. 

Bobbi feels herself smile. “Not great.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I get kind of, um. After -“ Bobbi stops for a moment, thinking. She doesn’t want to use the words she ordinarily would - like _shift_ or _change_ \- and make Jemma upset again, but there aren’t a lot of other ways to describe it. “ - the thing you saw this morning, it’s kind of hard on my body. I feel a bit sick after.”

“Like a hangover?”

“Sort of, yeah.” 

Jemma nods, looking thoughtfully at the corn chip she’s holding. 

“Plus, there’s this cute scientist I work with, and I’m pretty sure I’ve scared her off dating me forever, so. That wasn’t the best.” 

This earns Bobbi a genuine smile, and Jemma reaches across the table to touch Bobbi’s hand. “I don’t think you could scare anyone off forever. I’m sure she’ll come around with a little time.” 

“Yeah?” Bobbi asks. She’s so _hopeful_ , and she doesn’t want it to show in her voice but it’s there, all the same. 

Jemma nods, and she’s looking at Bobbi, really looking at her, the way she did before this morning happened. “So,” she says. “You’re a werewolf.” 

Bobbi smiles. “Last time I checked,” she says, trying for a joke. 

Jemma tilts her head, watching Bobbi for a moment with a look that’s not fear. Instead it’s curiosity and interest and earnestness, and that’s - Bobbi doesn’t know. She feels like it can’t be right. “Is it permanent?” Jemma asks gently. 

“As far as I know.” 

“How long have you been one? I mean - is it something you’re born with, or is there some kind of process to -“

“Sixteen,” Bobbi says. “Since I was sixteen. It’s not - you need to be bitten, to change.”

“Oh,” Jemma says. She’s looking at Bobbi with soft eyes, like maybe she’s thinking about sixteen-year-old Bobbi wrestling with her wolf, charting out full moons to see if she can make it to lacrosse finals, getting into fights with her parents after staying out all night. Bobbi meets her eyes for as long as she can stand it, then looks away. She doesn’t like thinking about that part of who she is, and maybe it shows, because Jemma starts talking to fill the silence.

“Do you -?” Jemma starts, then wrinkles her nose, embarrassed. “Do you have any special abilities? Aside from the obvious, I mean.”

Bobbi runs a hand across the back of her neck, suddenly self-conscious. She’s never had anybody ask, before. Everyone she’s been with for any length of time has either been completely in the dark or a wolf themselves. But now she has to figure out how to say things out loud, things like _I can smell you, sometimes_ and _I can hear your heartbeat_ and _my wolf thinks you’re sexy_ without sounding like a character from a Stephenie Meyer novel. 

“Sort of,” she says. Jemma swallows. “I can hear better than most people. And I can - I don’t know how to explain it, but there’s some wolf stuff that sticks around after I shift.” 

Jemma blushes, and shifts a little. “What sort of wolf stuff?” 

“Like, uh. Sense of smell, mostly. I’m a bit stronger than usual. That sort of thing.”

Jemma’s eyebrows fly up. “Sense of smell?” she asks. She sounds a little nervous, and she’s blushing to the tips of her ears like maybe she’s taking that fact all the way to its logical conclusion. Which - she’s not wrong, but it’s so much more than that, and Bobbi doesn’t even know how to begin explaining it all. 

There are layers to it, like the way she can tell the difference between a dog that’s scared and a dog that’s happy without looking, the way she can get a read on a person without talking to them, the way the smell of someone she cares about can help her relax. But she doesn’t have the words to explain the complexities of it without sounding - something. Definitely not normal. 

So instead, Bobbi sticks with what she knows. She leans across the table, until her head is level with Jemma’s and they’re nearly mouth to mouth. Jemma’s pupils go wide, and it’s a comfort to know that she’s still got that, even after all of this. “Don’t worry,” she drawls, voice low and rough and that’s partly because this is a line, partly because Jemma smells like warm cinnamon and beer and herself. “You always smell good to me.”

Jemma laughs. “That was a line if I’ve ever heard one.” 

Bobbi looks her up and down, and smiles. She can smell the slight edge of arousal to Jemma’s scent, hear her heartbeat quicken, and it’s such a relief after a day of worrying that it makes her almost giddy. “Yeah, but it worked, didn’t it?”

“How on earth could you possibly know -“ Bobbi waits, watching Jemma until that look of understanding hits her. “- oh. That’ll take some getting used to.”

Bobbi pauses. “Is it something you want to get used to?”

“Of course,” Jemma says. She sounds so confident, so calm, and Bobbi can’t quite believe that it's true. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. “I’ll understand, if you don’t. It’s kind of a lot, and you don’t need to be a part of it if you don’t want to be.” 

Jemma reaches under the table, one hand finding Bobbi’s knee. Her touch is calm, and Bobbi can feel the warmth of it through her jeans, grounding. “It is a lot to take in,” Jemma says, matter-of-factly. “And it’s definitely not what I was expecting. But - you have a lot of excellent qualities, Ms. Morse, and I enjoy spending time with you. Bizarre evening habits notwithstanding.” 

Bobbi looks away, feeling almost shy. It’s - it’s not too much, but it’s more than she expected, and it’s something big and new to navigate that she hasn’t really thought through. “Alright,” she says. “I can work with that.” 

“Good.”

Jemma’s hand is still resting against her knee, thumb occasionally tracing half-circles in the hollow there, and it’s more of a comfort than anything she could say. Touch, Bobbi _understands_ , in a way that’s half-her and half-wolf. She looks at Jemma, and finds that she’s watching Bobbi, taking her in with eyes that aren’t disinterested. She feels her wolf stirring a little, that familiar pull of interest, but puts it aside. Tonight is not the night for that. “Want to get out of here?” she asks. “I’ll walk you home.”

Jemma nods. 

 

Bobbi takes Jemma along the short walk back to her apartment. It rained while they were inside, and the world smells fresh and green, so strongly that even Jemma comments on it. They walk in silence, but it feels like a comfortable one, this time. Jemma smells calm, and keeps herself close to Bobbi’s side, the whole way. At every crosswalk they bump shoulders, contact sending sensation humming across Bobbi’s skin. It’s dusk, sun half-set and streetlights starting to shine, and the light moves across Jemma’s hair, her face, in the best possible way. A lesser person might be thinking about kissing her. 

They get to Jemma’s building, and Bobbi stops at the end of the sidewalk. She wants - so badly - to go inside, to follow Jemma upstairs and make sure she’s okay (and maybe taste her, a little) but she’s pretty sure that what Jemma needs is space, right now. “Here we are,” Jemma says. 

“We are,” Bobbi says. “Have a good night. And, um. Thank you.” 

Jemma smiles, meeting Bobbi’s eyes. “You’re very welcome,” she says. 

She lingers for a moment, face turned up towards Bobbi’s, eyes drifting toward Bobbi’s mouth, obviously expectant. Bobbi wants to lean down and kiss her, but it feels like too much to hope for. She can’t believe that Jemma would actually want to pick things up right where they left off, after everything she’s just found out. 

Despite all that, Bobbi finds herself leaning in, halfway there before she catches herself, holds back. It feels like the hardest thing in the world, but she waits for the moment to pass. It’s almost a relief when Jemma reaches into her pocket for her keys, turning away. “Goodnight, then,” Jemma says. 

“Goodnight,” Bobbi echoes. 

She watches as Jemma walks down the short stretch of sidewalk that leads to her front door, wanting to see her safely inside. Then she watches as Jemma hesitates at the doorway, and turns back to look at her. Bobbi can’t quite hear her sigh, but she can see it, and clearly something makes her turn back and walk toward Bobbi again. Bobbi frowns, ready to ask if she’s okay, if she has any more questions, but Jemma speaks first. “I forgot something,” she says.

Jemma’s cheeks are bright pink, and her keys are still in the hand that grabs a fistful of Bobbi’s coat and tugs her downward. They meet in the middle for a kiss that’s searing, sweet, and all Bobbi can think is that if Jemma can kiss her like _this_ after knowing what she is, maybe things will be alright after all. “Yeah?” she whispers as the kiss ends. 

Jemma nods. “Much better. Goodnight, Bobbi.” 

Bobbi runs her tongue across her lower lip, biting down, and watches as Jemma walks away. It’s a start. 

 

+

 

Bobbi goes home feeling better, but she doesn’t sleep as well as she should. Secret-keeping is a habit for her, one that runs so deeply it borders on instinct. There's something about going to bed (instead of getting ready to leave town) that feels too good to be true. 

She spends the night in bed, restless, half-dozing and half-fretting. Ordinarily she’d go for a run, feeling like this. For obvious reasons that doesn’t seem like the best idea. 

 

She makes it to work feeling exhausted and tense, still half-expecting - something. An interrogation, maybe, or some sort of panic. But everything’s just as it was. Daisy is still Daisy, and she’s interested in what Bobbi’s been up to - but only because she wants to know if Bobbi’s dating her best friend, and that, Bobbi knows how to cope with. 

So things are good, things are normal, but somehow that makes her situation with Jemma even tougher to gauge. It’s a good thing that Jemma’s not telling everyone she’s a wolf, but Bobbi doesn't know how to react to that, doesn't have the experience to feel out what it means. 

She tries to focus on work - on press releases and waiting for word from the pack - because she knows that one of the things she needs to do is give Jemma space. But then there’s that memory of Jemma, blushing and giving her a goodnight kiss, the one that Bobbi's pretty sure meant, _I’m interested, call me._

She lasts three days before she ends up sneaking down to the lab to see Jemma again. 

It’s not that she needs to _check_ , or anything. Jemma’s welcome to take as long as she needs before she sees Bobbi again, and it’s fine if she decides never to see Bobbi again at all. But Bobbi needs certainty, the kind that comes from scent and sight and feeling instead of text messages.

She swings by the lab at the end of the day, just as everyone’s packing up. Fitz is on his way out the door with a couple of the techs, and Jemma’s not far behind. 

Fitz catches her first. “Bobbi, hey.”

She stops. She can see Jemma just behind him, wants to talk to _her_ instead. She ignores the momentary flash of irritation, and says, “Yeah. Hey, Fitz. How's it going?”

“Not bad, not bad,” he says, shrugging. “Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, I was just -“ Bobbi trails off, suddenly stuck. She doesn’t actually have an excuse for coming down here; she hadn’t planned that far ahead. “You know, I had a question, but it looks like you’re all heading out for the day. It can wait.”

Fitz frowns, but before he can say anything in reply, Jemma’s at his elbow. “Bobbi,” she says, voice bright and professional as ever. “Is this about that project you were working on?”

Bobbi lets out of a sigh of relief, only half-feigned. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I just had a couple more questions - do you have time, or -?”

Jemma’s smile is obliging, like nothing’s the matter at all. “Of course, I can stay a few minutes more,” she says to Bobbi. Then, to Fitz, “You go on ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fitz leaves with a noncommittal shrug, and the rest of the techs leave, and then it’s just the two of them in the lab together. Jemma takes off her coat, her scarf, as if preparing for a bit of a conversation. Bobbi stands still, hands twisting together, not sure what to say. 

“So,” Jemma says, leaning back against one of the benches. She’s short enough that the edge of the bench comes up to the middle of her back, but somehow it still _works_ for her. “How can I help you, Ms. Morse?”

She’s looking at Bobbi with a smile that reaches her eyes, knowing and a little flirtatious. Her expression is exactly what it would have been a week ago, like nothing’s wrong - like Bobbi’s not a wolf, or like she is a wolf and that’s _okay_ , but that doesn't seem right. Her eyes slide slowly from Bobbi’s face to her lips to the rest of her body, like maybe she has some ideas about how she can _help Bobbi_. 

Bobbi feels her mouth go dry, her heart beat accelerate a little. The bruises on Jemma’s neck have all healed, but Bobbi has a sudden, deep urge to leave more of them. Her wolf stirs, filling her head with thoughts that amount to _go ahead_. She shakes her head, ignoring it. “I just, um. Hadn’t heard from you in a few days. I wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Jemma’s smile grows a little wider. “Everything’s fine, thank you for asking.” 

“I was wondering if you’d want to -“ Bobbi starts, then stops, not sure how to end that sentence appropriately. “I’ve missed you.”

“Really?”

Bobbi nods. “I just, um. I didn’t know if you’d want to see me for a while, after -“

“I thought you didn’t want to -“ Jemma says, overlapping Bobbi’s sentence. 

They both stop. Jemma laughs, gently, at the pair of them. Bobbi runs a hand through her hair, tugging tight because _fuck_ , she’s so bad at this sometimes. She shakes her head, tries to start over. “I think - I wanted to give you space, because I thought you might not be interested, anymore. But in hindsight, that might have worked better if I’d told you what I was doing.”

“Perhaps.”

“Can I see you again?” Bobbi asks. It makes her feel exposed, having to ask like that. But Jemma lights up in reply, so maybe it was the right thing to do after all. 

“Definitely,” she says. “When would you like to see me?”

Bobbi’s wolf parts have an answer, but she keeps that contained, really thinks about it. “Friday?” she says. “My place. I can cook, sort of.”

Jemma smiles, then steps forward so that she’s almost touching Bobbi, and rubs the length of her arm. “That sounds lovely,” she says. 

She collects her things and leaves for the day, and Bobbi stays where she is. There are goosebumps down the length of her arm, and her heart is racing behind her ribs, full of hope.


	6. Chapter Six

Bobbi spends most of Friday feeling - something. Sort of twitchy, full of anticipation and uncertainty and she’s not used to this, doesn’t know what to do with it. Her body is telling her to run but there’s no time for that until after tonight, so she’s just sort of tense, and full of unspent energy. It’s bad enough that even Daisy notices, after the fourth time Bobbi bounces her knee so hard that it shakes their shared desks. 

“Are you okay?” Daisy asks. “You seem like you’re a bit on edge, today.”

“Yeah,” Bobbi says. “I just - missed my usual workout, and I guess I’ve got a bit of extra energy to burn.”

It’s not entirely a lie. Daisy shrugs and leaves it alone, but not without a long, quizzical look. 

 

Bobbi leaves work at the appropriate time, gets groceries, goes home. She goes through two different outfits before settling on the right one - jeans and a button-front shirt, the one she usually doesn’t wear because it emphasizes how tall she is. (It feels like that might not be a bad thing, tonight.) She cooks - pasta with sausage and red sauce, salad with homemade dressing, one of three meals in her repertoire suitable for a date. She tries to focus on the preparation, rather than waiting for Jemma to arrive. It half works. 

Jemma rings her apartment buzzer at five after eight, and Bobbi jumps at the sound. She’s too off-balance, too invested in tonight, and it’s making her restless. By the time Bobbi hears the knock at her door, she’s settled herself a bit more, enough that she can open the door looking mostly collected. 

She feels like she does a good job of it until she actually sees Jemma, and then all of that composure disappears. Jemma’s wearing this little dress, buttons down the front and a little flared skirt, with a sweater on top. It suits her completely, and Bobbi hasn’t seen her in a dress since the gala but it’s - oh, it’s _working_. It takes her a few moments to realize that she’s let herself get distracted, and that she’s basically just staring at Jemma in the doorway, like an idiot. “Hi," she finally says. 

“Hi,” Jemma parrots back. She’s sort of staring herself, eyes flicking in a line from Bobbi’s shoulders to her hips. The shirt was a good choice, after all. 

Bobbi forces her attention away from staring and toward hosting. “Come in,” she says. Jemma does. 

“I brought wine. I wasn’t sure what you were making, so I don’t know if it’ll go with dinner, but -“

“It looks perfect,” Bobbi says, barely glancing at the label. She’s not really a wine person - she can tell the different colours apart, and that's about it. But Jemma brought it, and that means it’s probably great. 

She gestures to the kitchen counter, encouraging Jemma to make herself comfortable. There are seats on the far side of the counter, away from the stove, and Jemma sits in one while she takes in the state of the kitchen. The salad’s already made, and the sauce is bubbling gently on the stove, filling the kitchen with the smell of warm tomatoes and spices. All that’s left is to cook pasta and open drinks. To Bobbi’s own eye, it looks like she’s done okay. 

Jemma breathes in deeply, closing her eyes. “Dinner smells fantastic. Did you make all this?”

Bobbi nods. “I can’t wait to try it,” Jemma says, casting an appreciative look at Bobbi. 

Bobbi opens the wine and pours them both a glass. It’s red, and tastes - fine, probably. Wolf senses weren’t really made for appreciating things like wine and fancy cheese, and this one tastes a little too-strong and too-tart, the way reds always do in her mouth. Jemma takes a sip of hers, and from the little smile on her face as she finishes her first sip, Bobbi assumes this is one that Jemma likes. 

They talk, as the pasta finishes cooking. Mostly about work - Fitz wants to start up a Dungeons and Dragons night with the lab team, Bobbi’s pretty sure the new hire in building security has a crush on Daisy - but that’s not a bad place to start. It feels easy, talking to Jemma, and Bobbi realizes that in all her fretting over Jemma and her wolf, she’d forgotten that. 

Once dinner is ready, she serves them both. They end up sitting side-by-side at Bobbi’s kitchen counter, Jemma’s legs dangling a little on the barstool while Bobbi’s feet touch the ground. 

After the usual pleasantries about the food - which is good, if Bobbi says so herself - and a little bit of eating, Jemma turns to her and narrows her eyes. “So, why did you really start working at SHIELD.” 

Bobbi freezes, fork halfway to her mouth. She sets it down slowly, trying to focus on not spilling sauce on her jeans and on not thinking too hard about how to answer. 

“I told you,” she says, careful to keep her voice even. “I wanted a fresh start, and conservation is important to me. For obvious reasons.”

Jemma frowns. Her expression is pointed, eyes wide with innocence they both know is feigned. “It just seems odd, you starting to work with us right before we launch a tool that can detect wolves.” 

Bobbi meets Jemma’s eyes, gaze steady. “How could I have known you were working on something like that?”

“I don’t know,” Jemma says. “That’s why I’m asking.” 

Bobbi sighs. She knows that she should keep lying. Knows that the right answer - the answer Mack would give - is that she doesn’t know and that Jemma should drop it. But she’s already done that (had that blow up in her face) with Hunter, is the thing. With Jemma, it feels like something that Bobbi wants to do differently. “I’m not supposed to tell you,” she starts. 

“Obviously,” Jemma replies, primly. 

“But I want to - “ she sighs, pausing for a minute. She knows what she’s supposed to do and what she’s about to do are completely different things, and she needs to take a moment to accept the fact that she’s about to blow _everything_ about this mission over a woman. “I need you to know that what I’m telling you is a secret.” 

“I think that’s fairly obvious, since I assume it's related to the fact that you’re also secretly a werewolf.” Jemma sort of stumbles over the word, like she can’t quite believe she’s saying it. 

“Point taken.” Bobbi takes a sip of wine, works at a couple more bites of her dinner. She’s stalling, but if Jemma notices, she doesn’t say anything about it. “I’m - part of a pack. A group of other wolves, and we all have jobs, help each other out. My job is to help gather information that’s useful, that might otherwise be unavailable.”

“You’re a spy,” Jemma says, a little accusatory. 

“I guess,” Bobbi says. “It’s - there’ve been problems, lately. Someone’s been killing wolves.” 

“What?” Jemma says. She looks surprised - genuinely so. 

Bobbi nods. “Which is a problem, because we are, as I mentioned, secret. So it doesn’t make sense that people would be finding us, unless -“

“- someone builds a wolf detector.” 

“Exactly,” Bobbi says. 

Jemma sits back for a moment. Her expression is distant with consideration. She reaches for her glass and takes a sip of her drink, absently. “That explains your interest in the anomalous data. We thought it was a flaw in our algorithm, but obviously that’s because we were relying on the premise that wolves can’t disappear and reappear, but if they _can_ that’s an entirely different-“

Jemma pauses, momentarily interrupted by Bobbi’s mouth against hers. Bobbi had planned on letting her finish, but something about Jemma’s face and the way she’d been speaking with her hands was too much. 

She’s got one hand wrapped around Jemma’s waist, the other resting on the edge of the counter, fingers gripping as tightly as she can. In the flurry of worrying about everything, she’d half-forgotten about kissing Jemma, and the way it makes her feel. She kisses her for as long as she dares, before starting to lean back. 

Before they completely separate, she moves back in and presses one last kiss to the corner of Jemma’s mouth, impulsively. 

“Oh,” Jemma says. “What was that for?”

Bobbi shrugs. “You just - I don't know. Looked like you needed it." 

“Really?” Jemma says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. 

“Definitely,” Bobbi says. She’s feeling that pull again, even stronger now that Jemma’s in her arms, solid and leaning into her, red wine sweet on her mouth. She wants Jemma a _lot_ , and that feels really important but she’s also still not sure about where they stand, on - well, on most things. She’s got a lot of secrets, and she’s never had someone know most of them before, and it makes her uncertain in a way that she’s not used to. She wants to make sure that Jemma’s okay - on the wolf issue, on everything else, and that she’s still comfortable with all the things that Bobbi wants to come after, if they keep on kissing. 

Their mouths aren’t that far apart, and Jemma’s leaning up to meet her, eyes dark with intent. Halfway there, Bobbi turns her head away. Jemma’s mouth hits the side of her jaw, instead, and she lets out a sigh of frustration. “What?” Jemma says. “What is it?” 

Bobbi frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Ever since the other morning, you’ve been all over the map. I think you’re interested, and then you don’t call for days, and then you ask me to dinner and tell me all your secrets, but now you’ll barely kiss me.”

“Oh,” Bobbi says. She doesn’t really know what to say after that. She thought it was obvious - that she didn’t want to overstep, that she was trying to give Jemma space - but maybe it really wasn’t. 

Jemma raises her eyebrows, like _oh_ doesn’t really go far enough. Bobbi sighs, embarrassed. “This is new for me, okay?” 

Jemma frowns. “New because I’m a woman?”

Bobbi shakes her head. “No, not that. It’s -“ she pauses, discomfort showing on her face. She’s not good at this. “You’re not a wolf. I’ve never - all my exes have either been wolves, or it never got serious enough for them to know.”

Now it’s Jemma’s turn to say, “Oh.”

“I’m not used to -“ Bobbi stops to choose her words carefully. “- not keeping secrets.” 

“Well, I’m not used to having secrets to keep, either, if that helps.”

Bobbi sighs. “Not really.” 

Jemma smiles. She looks so trusting, so confident and her smile feels like exactly what Bobbi needs right now. “I suppose we’ll have to figure it out together,” Jemma says. She reaches up, one hand on Bobbi’s cheek and the other on the collar of Bobbi’s shirt. She tugs at the fabric, eyebrows lifting suggestively. 

Bobbi feels her wolf parts respond, a flood of _yes please_ stirring in her chest and between her legs. This part - the part without talking - she knows how to do. She feels like she should say something in return, though, before she lets herself get carried away. “Yeah,” Bobbi says. “Figuring it out sounds like it’d be okay.”

Saying it out loud makes her feel raw, the emotional equivalent of showing her belly, all her softest parts on display. But with Jemma, it feels like the right thing to do. She’s rewarded with another kiss, Jemma pulling Bobbi down towards her. She kisses with her whole body, mouth open and tongue soft and her body arching against Bobbi, telling her _yes_ in a way that makes her feel a little less off balance. Jemma’s scent is all around her, warm and heavy in her nostrils and god Bobbi _wants_. 

Bobbi holds her close, the arm around Jemma’s back tightening to keep her near as she kisses back. She’s still struggling, torn between the instinct to make Jemma _hers_ and the intellectual side of her that wants to keep this controlled, gentle. 

Jemma pulls away, meeting Bobbi’s eyes. She doesn’t look unsure about this at all. She watches Bobbi with certainty, keeping eye contact as she leans in and nips at Bobbi’s lower lip, hard enough to make her groan. “Come on,” she whispers, like a dare. 

Bobbi half-launches herself off her barstool, pressing Jemma against the side of the counter with her body. She feels Jemma arch against the length of her, pressing against Bobbi’s belly, her thigh, her groin, and it’s intoxicating. She pulls Jemma into a kiss, hard. Her mouth is sure and eager as she tears at Jemma's lips. Jemma makes a squeaking sound in the back of her throat, surprised at first. It doesn’t take her long to respond, though, first with her mouth and then with the rest of herself. One of her legs is wrapped around Bobbi’s thighs and she’s arching up until she’s all but climbing Bobbi, trying to pull their bodies even closer. 

Bobbi tears at her mouth, lips and gentle teeth, because Jemma tastes _so good_ and god, she’s been holding this back for days and if Jemma wants to dare her, Bobbi’s damn well going to take her up on it. 

They kiss until they’re both breathless. Jemma’s huffing out short, panting sighs that are hot against Bobbi’s mouth, and that’s something _excellent._ Bobbi feels like she’s on fire, pent up energy running under her skin and some of it’s from her wolf but most of it’s _hers_ , eagerness over Jemma and her body and being able to do this, with her, after everything. She feels it in her chest, fluttering under her ribcage and settling between her thighs. 

Bobbi leans against Jemma, pulling her close with an arm around her back. Jemma’s legs are both wrapped around her thigh, and when Bobbi flexes the right way, Jemma gasps and her hips buck down, tellingly. “Oh. Do you, um -?” Jemma says. She sounds like she’s pretty far gone, breathless and sort of dazed, and Bobbi feels a little thrill at the sound of it. Finally, she manages, “Do you have a bedroom?”

Bobbi nods. There’s a part of her that doesn’t want to move, because moving means time when Jemma isn’t pressed against her. But moving also brings the prospect of Jemma spread out on her bed, and that’s more than a little appealing. She steps back, trying to ignore the way her skin feels cold at the loss of contact. 

Her bedroom isn’t far - just down the hall - but it takes them both a surprising amount of time to make it there. They stop twice; once because Bobbi hasn’t kissed Jemma in at least a few seconds, then again for similar reasons. Bobbi’s bedroom isn’t anything special - there’s a bed, some clean laundry on the floor and her favourite sweater draped over a chair in the corner. But Jemma still takes the time to look around, says, “I like it.”

“Thanks,” Bobbi says. It’s an effort to speak, to use the parts of her brain responsible for anything but _touching_ because Jemma’s in her bedroom and her hair and dress are rumpled in the most delicious way and that’s very, very important. 

Jemma stares at Bobbi, up and down, like she’s taking her in. Her eyes are a little glazed over and her mouth is kissed dark pink and she looks so _eager_. She closes the distance between them, walking up between Bobbi’s legs and steering her backwards until her calves hit the bed. Jemma shoves, gently, mouth curling into a playful smile. 

Bobbi lets herself fall backwards so that she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. It brings them nearly eye to eye, Jemma slightly taller standing up. She’s watching Bobbi like she’s got _plans_ , as she closes the distance between them. Something in her expression sends a thrill of wanting through Bobbi, and it’s all she can do to keep still and wait. 

Jemma steps in close, one of her legs bookended by Bobbi’s knees. She shifts her weight, so that she’s kneeling on the edge of the bed with her other leg, then moves to straddle Bobbi’s lap. She’s so _near_ , the whole of her body pressed up against Bobbi’s front. Bobbi reaches to hold her close, one hand at the small of Jemma’s back and the other resting at the top of her thigh, just below her ass. She presses with her fingertips, not really pulling but _encouraging_ , waiting to see what she’ll do next. 

Bobbi takes a deep breath, willing herself to keep still. Jemma is a warm, eager weight in her lap, hips tilted against Bobbi’s belly. Her dress is all askew, skirt hiked up to her hips and Bobbi can feel the heat of her cunt, can smell the desire there, and it’s intoxicating. 

She feels Jemma’s hand at her nape, as Jemma reaches up to pull Bobbi into a long kiss. She drags her nails across Bobbi’s scalp, scratching gently, too much sensation and just enough at the same time. Bobbi responds by shivering with her whole body, groaning into Jemma’s mouth. Jemma wriggles her hips against Bobbi, sighing in reply. 

This is good - it’s _incredible_ \- but it’s a little too slow for the eager part of Bobbi and so she tightens her arms around Jemma’s back and turns them both, setting Jemma down on her back. She follows, arranging herself with one arm on either side of Jemma’s shoulders. She wants Jemma naked, wants to undress her, but the front of Jemma’s dress has what seems like a hundred buttons and Bobbi doesn’t trust herself to undo them gently. Instead, she pushes the skirt of it up to Jemma’s hips, and tugs at the waistband to her underwear. 

Jemma helps, and together they slide her underwear off. Bobbi can smell her arousal, thick in the air and it makes her mouth water, her fingers twitch. She moves back up the bed, positioning herself so that her hand is _there_ , cupping the space between Jemma’s legs without actually touching. Jemma whimpers a little, sighs _oh_ and grinds herself against Bobbi’s palm, soaking wet and so _hot_ and it’s beautiful. 

Bobbi takes a moment to look at Jemma, spread out underneath her. She looks incredible, pupils wide and cheeks flushed pink and mouth all kissed out, with the folds of her skirt bunched around her waist. Their eyes meet, and Jemma’s looking right back at Bobbi with the same eyes, like she’s seeing Bobbi in a way that’s almost too much. 

Her instinct is to look away, but she keeps her eyes steady, and lets Jemma look at her. “Hey,” Jemma whispers. Bobbi feels a reply behind her ribs, fluttering fast. 

“Hey,” Bobbi whispers back. “Are you ok? Is this too much?”

Jemma looks at her. Her expression is calm and confident, and even though she’s seeing Bobbi for what she is, she shakes her head and says, “I trust you.” 

It feels like she’s saying something more. Bobbi wants to respond with words, but anything she can think to say - _I trust you, too_ , _you’re incredible_ \- doesn’t seem like enough. So she responds with her body, leaning down to kiss Jemma’s mouth, her jaw, her throat. 

Bobbi’s hand is still pressed against Jemma’s cunt, and by the time she’s done kissing Jemma is basically grinding against her palm, soaking it. Bobbi leans back, watching Jemma’s face as she slips two fingers inside her. Jemma’s eyes flutter closed, and her whole body arches up. She can feel Jemma clench around her fingers, warm-wet-slippery, and _oh_ , it’s amazing. 

Bobbi adds a third finger, eventually finding a slow rhythm that makes Jemma cry out, and it’s so wonderful to watch that she almost wants to look away. She angles her fingers forward, slightly, finding the spot inside Jemma that makes her dig fingernails into Bobbi’s shoulders and then she’s flying apart, shuddering and clenching against Bobbi’s fingers. 

It’s beautiful, and Bobbi looks at Jemma the whole time, watching her face as she rides out the last of her orgasm. It makes that fluttering in her chest tighten into an ache, and maybe this is the exact opposite of not getting attached, but maybe Bobbi doesn’t care. 

She lets Jemma come down gently - as gently as she can. Jemma’s cheeks are flushed and there’s a slight shine of sweat at her forehead and she looks completely fucked out, and it’s making Bobbi more than a little impatient. 

Fortunately, it’s not long before Jemma’s eyes flutter open, and she reaches up to cup Bobbi’s cheek. “You’re awfully good at that,” she mumbles, starry-eyed. 

“So are you,” Bobbi says. She makes a face almost immediately after she speaks, because obviously _you’re good at having orgasms_ is barely a compliment.

But Jemma giggles, wrinkling her nose and pulling Bobbi down for a messy, lazy kiss. “Thank you,” she chuckles. 

Her eyes are full of promise, as she reaches out to toy with the buttons of Bobbi’s shirt. “Can I?” she asks. 

Bobbi nods. Her mouth is suddenly dry, and all she can focus on is Jemma’s fingers, gentle and a little clumsy on each button of her shirt. It feels so slow - almost too slow, her wolf isn’t frantic but it does _want_ , enough that holding still feels like an effort. 

Once the buttons are finally undone, Jemma pauses, appreciative. She runs her fingertips along the tops of Bobbi’s breasts, down her belly, touch feather-light and maddening. By the time she gets to the waistband of Bobbi’s jeans, it’s almost more than Bobbi can stand. She plucks gently, teasing, and something inside Bobbi can’t wait any longer. She leans down and crushes Jemma’s mouth in a kiss, closing the distance between them and pressing her down into the bed. Jemma makes a little sound of surprise in the back of her throat, and that just makes Bobbi all the more eager. 

As Bobbi kisses, she undresses herself, sliding out of her shirt, her bra, unbuttoning her jeans. She takes a break and stands so that she can shimmy out of her jeans and underwear, and then she’s naked and she can come back to Jemma who’s waiting for her on the bed, chuckling softly. 

“Eager, are we?” Jemma says, but she also obliges with a hand between Bobbi’s legs, touch warm and firm and almost, _almost_.

“Yes,” Bobbi groans, unapologetically. She’s needed this for days, maybe longer. Some of that’s her wolf, but it doesn’t feel as urgent as before. There’s not the same need to take and _have_ , but there is a content sort of attachment that she’s never felt before, some new combination of need and patience. 

Jemma touches a little, but then she stops “I want to -“ she starts, then pauses, tilting her head to the side. “Lie down for me?”

Bobbi obeys, stretching out on her back on the bed. Jemma follows, arranging herself so that her hips are level with Bobbi’s knees and her mouth is in just the right spot to tongue at her breasts, strumming against her tits and scraping teeth along the undersides until Bobbi cries out. Everything important feels like it’s on this bed: Jemma’s mouth and her body and the aching between her legs that needs _touching_. She hears herself whimper, rocking her hips into nothingness and maybe that’s hopelessly needy but Jemma takes the hint. She kisses her way down Bobbi’s abdomen, toward her hipbones. 

Bobbi lifts her head a little, watching. Jemma’s beautiful like this, hair mussed and mouth pressed against Bobbi’s skin. She’s still wearing her dress, and that _does something_ to Bobbi, makes it even harder to wait for this. 

It feels like ages before Jemma’s mouth finally settles between Bobbi’s legs, close to where she wants it. She presses a kiss to her cunt, gentle pressure that Bobbi feels like a shock, almost-but-not-quite. When Jemma’s tongue finally flicks across her clit, she arches up, crying out in a way that’s not controlled at all. She feels-hears Jemma chuckle, and then she doesn’t notice anything but the fact that Jemma’s licking into her in earnest, tongue moving against her in sure, quick strokes. Bobbi’s so worked up, so _close_ and Jemma’s so _good_ that before long she’s rocking her hips, trying to stop herself from rutting against Jemma’s mouth. It’s good, it’s _excellent_ and then Bobi’s hips snap up and she grunts and then she’s seeing stars, shuddering out wave after wave of her orgasm, hands fisting in the sheets.

When she finally comes back down, Jemma’s stroking her hip, touch gentle and sweet. Her mouth is pressing little kisses to the inside of Bobbi’s thigh, feather-light and reassuring. It’s the sweetest thing, not necessary but so thoughtful - _just like Jemma always is,_ she catches herself thinking. 

Bobbi laughs, shuddering and breathless, whispers happy nonsense in the direction of her. 

Jemma takes that as a hint to make her way up the bed and cuddle against Bobbi’s side. She presses a kiss to Bobbi’s cheek, expression sweet and a little smitten. Bobbi holds her close, plucking at the fabric of her dress with clumsy fingers. “It’s a shame I never got you out of this,” she murmurs.

Jemma chuckles. “I can now, if you’d like?”

Bobbi nods. There’s cold air against her side as Jemma moves away to stand and undress, but it’s not long before she’s back. She tucks herself into the space at Bobbi’s side, skin against warm skin. Bobbi tilts her head, and Jemma meets her halfway, kissing her. Bobbi’s mouth is still lazy, a little sloppy, but Jemma doesn’t seem to mind and her mouth tastes like _Bobbi_ and that’s important. Jemma’s important. 

“You need anything?” she asks, after she feels a bit less afterglowy and a little more like herself. “Water?”

“Sure,” Jemma says. “We did have a bit of a workout,” she adds, blushing. 

Bobbi laughs, just a little, and presses a kiss to Jemma’s nose. “I’ll be back.” 

She gets up, walks naked to the kitchen to get a glass of water for each of them. 

When she gets back, Jemma’s curled up on top of the bed, flicking through her phone. She’s wearing underwear and one of Bobbi’s sweaters - and as far as Bobbi can tell, _only_ that. The sweater is one of Bobbi’s favourites, the grey, oversized one that’s a little worn at the cuffs. It fits Jemma alright in the shoulders, but she’s practically swimming in the sleeves, extra fabric draped over her hands in a way that’s a lot more endearing than it should be. 

Bobbi lingers against the doorway, not quite wanting to interrupt Jemma just yet. The room smells like sex and the two of them, her-and-Jemma, mingled together in a way that Bobbi feels as a thrill of wolf-happiness behind her ribs.

“Hey,” Bobbi says, once she’s looked her fill. Her voice is soft around the edges, gentle, and god she’s so _sweet_ on Jemma she can hardly believe herself. 

Jemma looks up, and something in Bobbi’s expression makes her shy. “Hey,” she says. “What are you looking at?”

Bobbi doesn’t say anything. She’s got a glass of water in each hand, and she sets the one for Jemma on the nightstand. She’s grinning, because she’s just _happy_ , and she can’t not. Jemma shoves her, gently. “What?”

Bobbi shrugs. “You’re wearing my sweater.” 

“So?”

Bobbi ducks her head, suddenly a bit bashful. “I’m allowed to be into that.”

Jemma chuckles. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bobbi says, emphatically. 

Jemma wrinkles her nose, reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears. It makes the sleeve of her sweater slide down to her forearm, exposing her fingertips and the smallness of her wrist, and Bobbi feels a thrill of vaguely-possessive attraction. “Why is me wearing a sweater with gorilla arms so attractive for you?” she asks. 

Bobbi wants to share - she wouldn’t have brought it up if she didn’t - but once again she feels like she’s coming up against that wall. Explaining wolf things out loud makes them sound so silly, but it’s not like she made up the rules, or anything. “Okay. Promise you won’t laugh,” she says. 

“I promise,” Jemma says. She’s trying to sound mildly offended, but she’s too cozy and post-coital to really pull it off. 

“It, um. Makes you smell like me,” Bobbi says. 

Jemma wrinkles her nose, and this look of gently self-satisfied delight spreads across her face. “That’s so territorial of you.” 

Bobbi shrugs, grins. “At least I have an excuse.”

Jemma makes this noise that’s perilously close to a snort. “Oh, you can’t help yourself?” she asks, gently sarcastic. “It’s an innately werewolf quality?”

Bobbi nods, reaches over so that she can pull Jemma close and nuzzle into the top of her head. She smells so _good_ this close up, this mix of herself and Bobbi and sex and sweat and cotton. Bobbi realizes that she wouldn’t mind breathing her in forever. “Yep,” she whispers, lips brushing across Jemma’s hair. “I’m helpless.” 

Jemma snuggles into her, letting out this happy little sigh that Bobbi wants to remember for later. She’s so small, so _fragile_ as she wriggles her back closer to Bobbi’s front, reaching up to trace her fingertips down Bobbi’s forearm. “I guess I can accept that,” Jemma murmurs. 

“Good,” Bobbi says, hugging her close. It’s vulnerable, it’s letting her feelings get the better of her, and already she feels like she’s in over her head when it comes to Jemma. 

She also doesn’t care if she is. With Jemma, being in over her head doesn’t feel like such a bad thing. 

 

+

 

The next morning, Bobbi wakes with Jemma tangled around her. She’s overheated, mouth dry, and Jemma’s wrapped around her side, somehow all arms and legs despite her small size. Her head’s tucked into the space between Bobbi’s breasts, and she’s so _warm_ , cuddled this close. 

Bobbi’s alarm is going off, her phone on the nightstand just out of reach. “Hey,” Bobbi whispers, trying to lean across Jemma’s body. Jemma stirs, briefly, but takes the interruption as a cue to cuddle closer. “Hey,” Bobbi says again, a bit more firmly. “You need to wake up.” 

Jemma stirs again, and mumbles slightly-more-alert nonsense against Bobbi’s skin. The action sends a shiver of breath across Bobbi’s skin, and her body responds almost immediately, as if it remembers the night before. 

“Jemma,” Bobbi says. “We have work.”

_Work_ seems to be the magic word, and Jemma’s eyes fly open. “What?” she says. She’s still disoriented, both from waking and from the sound of an alarm that isn’t hers. “What’s going on?”

“You’re at my place. We fell asleep, and now we need to get up.”

“Oh,” Jemma says. A slow smile crosses her face, more than a little self-satisfied. “Right.” 

“Can I -“ Bobbi asks, gesturing toward the nightstand. 

Jemma rolls onto her back, giving Bobbi space to reach across her and get her phone. She taps the alarm button, finally silencing it. “Thank you,” Jemma says. 

“That’s better,” Bobbi echoes, almost at the same time. 

Now that her alarm isn’t buzzing, she’s able to focus on Jemma a bit better - the way she looks, naked and sleep-tousled, the way she’s watching Bobbi like she doesn’t care if she ever makes it to work on time. “We should, um,” she starts, forcing herself to look away. “We should probably get ready.”

“Yes,” Jemma says. “For work.” 

“Right.”

 

They make it to SHIELD headquarters eventually, and mostly on time. There’s a bit of a delay, because Bobbi only has the one shower and there are two of them (and Jemma suggests they share with that _look_ in her eyes, which leaves them both gasping against each other and decidedly not clean.) After that, there’s barely enough time to find clothes, and Bobbi ends up leaving the house with yesterday’s socks on but it’s fine, it’s worth it. 

They try to leave Bobbi’s place separately, and they arrive to different workstations at different times, but when Bobbi sits down at her desk, Daisy’s smiling at her like she _knows something_. 

“So,” Daisy says, steepling her fingers and watching Bobbi’s face from above them. “I hear Jemma didn’t sleep at her place last night.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bobbi says. “Is she okay?”

“From what I hear, she’s doing _great_.” Daisy follows this with a wink. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

Bobbi sighs. Today is going to be a lot longer than she expected, but somehow, she finds she doesn’t mind that much.


	7. Chapter Seven

That night, Bobbi arrives at her apartment building to find Mack waiting outside. She scents him a block and a half before she sees him, and when she does, the look on his face hits her in the pit of her stomach. Her first thought is that he _knows_ , that he’s heard about her and Jemma and that he’s here for a conversation. But once she’s close enough to speak to him, she can see the tension in his shoulders, his jaw, and she knows it must be something bigger than just that. “Mack,” she says. “What’s up?”

“We need to talk,” is all he’ll say. 

She lets him up, and they walk to her door in silence. Clearly, whatever he wants to talk about, it’s for her ears only. That usually means pack business. 

He takes one step inside Bobbi’s apartment before his nostrils flare, catching the scent of it. It’s not subtle - there’s lingering scent everywhere from the night before, not _smelly_ , but obvious to anyone with wolf-senses. Jemma is all over everything in the apartment. “Right,” he says. 

“Shut up,” Bobbi says, giving him a look. 

“Just saying,” he says, stepping further into the apartment and taking a seat at the kitchen counter. “This doesn’t seem like handling it.”

“Can I get you a beer?” Bobbi asks, walking to the fridge like he hasn’t said a word.

Mack shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “You got her out of your system yet?” 

The comment hits Bobbi like a slap in the face, and before she can think to calm herself down she’s _angry_ , hot and red behind her ribs. “It’s not like that,” she half-growls, automatically. It’s stupid, it gives away more than she means to, and she shakes her head at herself while she opens a beer for herself, one for Mack. 

“You’re sweet on this girl,” he says, and takes a sip. His exasperated look says _goddammit, Barbara_ for him.

“It’s more complicated than that,” Bobbi starts, but she doesn’t quite have the words to explain _how_. 

“Doesn’t seem that complicated,” he says. “Seems like a distraction, though.”

“It’s not,” Bobbi says, determined and fierce and she means that, down to her bones. “I assume you came here to do something besides tell me who I’m allowed to sleep with.”

“I did, in fact.”

“In fact.” 

Mack sits down, shifting a little on the barstool until he finds a comfortable spot. “While you were off making eyes at your new girlfriend, I looked into that guy you mentioned, Grant Ward.” 

“You think he could be our killer?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. Incarcerated at fourteen for arson and attempted murder, ties to some anti-climate change radical group called Hydra. Classic antisocial bullshit.”

“Charming,” Bobbi says. 

Mack shakes his head. “Something like that,” he says. “That girl turned up, the one from the pack down by the falls.”

“Dead?”

“Thankfully not. Sounds like he kidnapped her and tried some pretty dark stuff, has some kind of weird hate-on for wolves. She managed to get away, so that’s good, but, you know.”

“Fuck,” Bobbi says. She didn’t know Kara, not really, but the idea of some jackass kidnapping wolves is bad enough without it being personal. “So we’re thinking he’s got access to Romulus, that’s how he’s finding people.”

Mack nods. “Exactly.” 

Bobbi takes a long sip of her beer. She doesn’t like the idea of what’s coming - wouldn’t like it even if she didn’t have what she does with Jemma. “We’ve got to destroy it, don’t we?”

She’s not really asking, but Mack nods to confirm, all the same. “I’d keep your girl out of this, Bob.” 

Bobbi nods. She’s already thinking about all the ways this isn’t fair, the way Jemma’s going to look at her when she destroys the project Jemma’s been working on for months. 

“I mean it,” he says. “She’s not a wolf, and that’s messy business all on its own. I need you focused.” 

His logic is airtight, is the thing. And he’s been right before - he was right about Lance, more than once. But on the other hand, her pillowcase smells like Jemma and she kind of likes it like that, and maybe that’s just as important. 

She nods again, and looks him in the eye. “I am focused,” she says. “I’ll handle it.” 

It’s a lie, but a small one, and if Mack picks up on it he doesn’t show it. She is focused, and she will handle Ward and Romulus, but she’s spent enough time lying to people she cares about, and she doesn’t want to start that with Jemma. 

 

++

 

Bobbi is twenty nine years old, and she’s stuck in a motel room in Hood River with Hunter. She’s down in Oregon on instructions from Gonzales, gathering information about a new pack moving into Washington State, and Lance is picking a fight. 

“- it’s like I hardly see you at all,” he’s saying. He’s pacing, like he always does when he’s really beside himself. “First you’re working near Chelan Falls, then you’re in bloody Forks, now you’re out here. I thought being married meant we were supposed to see each other, occasionally.”

He’s not wrong, but he’s also not right about any of it, either. Moving because she wants to isn’t the same as moving because she has _orders_ , but she doesn’t know how to explain that without talking about things she shouldn’t. “I just -“ she runs a hand through her hair, trying to cool off. “It’s more complicated than that.” 

Lance rolls his eyes. “Well, you know what I think? I think you’re spying for Gonzales, and you’re lying to me about it.”

He’s dead on, but that’s not the point. The point is that she needs him to back off, to stop _pushing_ every single chance he gets instead of trusting her. She feels her wolf getting restless, anger burning under her ribs and god she just wants him to _stop._ “I think you’re getting paranoid,” she spits back. 

“I think I’ve got a bit of a right to be, what with my wife flitting all over the state for no bloody reason.” She doesn’t have an answer to that, not one she’s allowed to give. 

“Well, what did you expect, Hunter? Huh?” She’s right up in his face. With her boots on she’s taller than he is, and she uses it, leaning in. He takes a step back, and she hates that a part of her takes that as a victory. 

“I -“ Lance starts, snaps his teeth together. She can see the muscles in his jaw flex, can see the tension in his shoulders, his neck, knows what’s coming next. 

He launches himself at her like it’s a fight, smashes his lips against hers and she’s ready for it, kisses him back so hard their teeth click together. He walks her backward all the way across the room, until her back hits a wall and he can press her against it, one hand against her shoulder and the other tight around her bicep. She waits until he’s relaxed, until he feels like he’s won this before she shoves him away, still furious. “Fuck you,” she hisses, halfway between a threat and an invitation. 

“Planning on it, love,” he spits, still angry. His shoulders are tense and he’s breathing hard and he looks his best like this, damn him. She knows it’s coming, the moment where all of that angry energy turns into something entirely different. He licks his lips, and she feels it in her groin, furious and tense in an entirely different way. 

Now it’s her turn to pull him in, flip him around so that his back’s against the wall and he’s already grinning, running his tongue across his teeth. When she kisses him he groans, pulling her body into his. Everything about this is hard, _rough_. 

They fuck against the wall like it’s a competitive sport. Bobbi’s teeth are leaving marks against his shoulder and Lance is holding her tight, slamming her back into the wall while his fingers leave bruises against her ass, _daring_ her to come. 

Afterwards, Lance tumbles into bed, mollified and satiated and exhausted. Bobbi lays next to him, eyes open. She doesn’t fall asleep for hours. 

 

++

 

Bobbi spends the next few days distracted. She goes to work, she talks to Daisy and goes to meetings where she throws around terms like _social media presence_ and _reach_ , but her head’s only halfway present. She’s thinking about Jemma, thinking about Romulus and Ward and how on earth she’s going to navigate all of this. It’s the same three pieces, and no matter how many times she rearranges them in her head, they come out the same way: _Grant Ward is using Romulus to kill wolves. Romulus is putting wolves in danger. Bobbi has to handle it._

It’s simple, an easy cause-and-effect set of orders that Bobbi should be able to take care of in a weekend. But the thing Bobbi keeps coming back to is Jemma’s face, flushed and dark-eyed, and the sincerity in her voice when she said, _I trust you._

It’s messing Bobbi up, and the only person she wants to discuss it with is Jemma. 

 

+

 

She’s home alone when Jemma texts, asking what she’s up to. She sends a quick message back: _nothing._

Nothing, in this case, is actually a complicated plan to break into the lab after hours, one of thirty she’s plotted and scrapped over the evening. Her phone chirps with another text message. _Can I come over? I want to talk wolf stuff._

\- _Wolf stuff?_ Bobbi messages back. 

- _Would you prefer a more formal term? Lupine phenomenology, perhaps?_ There’s a winky-faced emoji attached to that, and Bobbi smiles despite herself. 

_\- Much more appropriate. Let me know when you get here, I’ll come down to let you up._

_\- On my way_ , Jemma texts in reply, and Bobbi feels a little thrill of excitement as she reads it. 

While she waits, she busies herself with tidying the apartment, trying to keep from pacing. When she’s worried, her wolf makes her restless, and it feels doubly hard to keep that under control when the subject of her worry is Jemma. 

It’s not long before Bobbi’s phone chirps again - Jemma doesn’t live far away - with a message that Jemma’s waiting outside. She grabs her phone and her keys, and half-jogs down the stairs to meet her. 

Jemma’s waiting at the front door, as advertised, and Bobbi feels herself start to smile when she’s halfway down the hall. She’s just _pretty_ , and her eyes are eager as she looks at Bobbi and her outfit is all sweet and dapper. Bobbi feels like a part of her forgot just how much she likes her, at least until just now. She opens the door, and catches the scent of outside, the smell of Jemma that’s starting to feel familiar, like it’s a little bit hers. 

“Hello,” Jemma says, lips twisting like she’s trying to suppress a grin. She half-succeeds. 

It’s the first time Bobbi’s seen Jemma since the last time she was here, and it’s hard not to lean in, wanting to kiss her. Jemma beats her to it, rising up on her toes to leave a quick kiss at the edge of Bobbi’s mouth. It makes Bobbi a little breathless as she replies, “Hey, you.” 

She can hear the sound of Jemma’s heartbeat accelerate as she walks past Bobbi and into the building. 

 

“So,” Bobbi says, once they’re safe in the privacy of her apartment. “Wolf stuff?”

Jemma shrugs. “The terminology is a work in progress. How are you?”

She shrugs, but maybe it’s a little unconvincing. “Alright, I guess.” Jemma narrows her eyes, a little. There’s disbelief in her expression, and Bobbi doesn’t know how she keeps falling into bed with people who don’t believe her when she lies. “Stressed. There’s, um, some stuff going on with friends of mine. It’s a bit complicated.”

Jemma’s eyebrows raise, and for a moment she looks like she wants to ask about it. Instead, she shakes her head, and refocuses. “Right. I wanted to talk to you about Romulus, and the, um. Werewolf problem.” 

It’s not what Bobbi was expecting to hear at all. “Really?”

Jemma nods. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, the other night - about someone being able to use it to find werewolves. Once I knew what I was looking for, it was actually quite straightforward to pick things up. You have a lot of friends in the south of the Falls area, did you know that?”

Bobbi sighs. It’s both flattering and awful, that Jemma’s working on the problem but also that she’s just made the wolf detector even _better._ “I did, actually.” 

“Anyway. Once I was able to isolate which data points weren’t “natural” wolves, so to speak, I was able to rewrite the algorithm to ignore them as background noise.” 

“Wait, what?” Bobbi says. She’s standing in the kitchen, near a chair, and she sits down. Her head is a swirl of competing emotions; disbelief and hope and something stronger that might or might not be love. “You fixed it?”

Jemma nods. She’s beaming, more than a little smug, but Bobbi’s pretty sure she’s earned that. “Once I knew what I was looking for, it was actually quite straightforward. I didn’t even have to run the numbers by Fitz.”

“And it won’t pick up wolves like me at all. You’re sure.”

Jemma nods again, and Bobbi breathes out, so relieved and so grateful that she hardly knows what to do with herself. She rushes forward and wraps her arms around Jemma, pulling her close and hugging her as hard as she dares. “That’s amazing,” she says. “You’re amazing.”

“Am I?” Jemma says, a little breathlessly. 

Bobbi nods, and steps back to look at her. “Yeah,” she says. She leans down and kisses Jemma soundly, angling her backward. 

Jemma takes a step back, then another, walking with Bobbi until her calves hit the coffee table. She lets out a squeaking noise, breaking their kiss as she stumbles a little. Bobbi reaches out, but Jemma’s already tumbling, landing on the couch. 

Bobbi joins her, chuckling, and as they arrange themselves, Bobbi also starts to explain. She tells Jemma about the pack, about Grant Ward and Romulus and how stuck she was, trying to figure out what to do. It comes out more easily than she expected, and and as she talks, she starts to feel almost relaxed. She’s not used to it. 

Jemma nods along, lets Bobbi stroke her hair. She doesn’t interrupt, much, except to add in helpful details. She tells Bobbi that all versions of the Romulus software use an algorithm stored on a central SHIELD server, so any version Ward has would be updated as well. She asks gentle questions about what it means to have a pack, what Bobbi’s responsibilities are, and Bobbi tells her.

It feels like ages before Bobbi’s finished talking, at least about all the big stuff. By then, Jemma’s curled into her side, looking up at Bobbi. Bobbi’s leaning into the corner of the couch, one arm slung over the armrest and the other wrapped around Jemma’s shoulders. Jemma smiles at Bobbi, looking up at her with eyes full of promise and interest and a little more. She repositions herself, rising onto her hands and knees so that she can draw level with Bobbi’s mouth. Bobbi feels her body respond in anticipation, a dull ache starting between her thighs. 

Jemma’s kisses are deliberate, unhurried in a way that’s almost lazy. She flicks her tongue across Bobbi’s lower lip until she sighs, kissing back. There’s something about it that’s almost more compelling, the idea that they’ve got _time_ for this, that they can take as long as they want. 

Jemma takes long breaks between kisses, leaning back to play with Bobbi’s hair and kiss her jawline, her ears. Every time she does, Bobbi feels that warmth inside her grow, making her fidgety with want. “Thank you,” Jemma whispers, in between kisses. “For telling me everything.”

Bobbi huffs out something like a laugh, breathy and more than a little aroused. “I don’t know that I deserve thanks for that. It’s not like I told you on purpose.” 

Jemma shrugs. “You are a woman of many secrets.” Then she leans back a little, so that she can take in Bobbi’s whole face. “Anything else I should know about you?”

Her tone is half-joking, but Bobbi has a lot more to tell, and there’s at least one secret that’s probably important for Jemma to know about. “I used to be married,” she says. “Bet that seems like less of a big deal by comparison, huh.”

Jemma, to her credit, responds with a laugh. “You’re not wrong,” she says. “To a man?”

“Yeah.”

“A wolf-man?”

“Yeah,” Bobbi says, chuckles. She’s never thought of Lance as her _wolf-man_ , but it’s accurate in more than one way. 

“How long ago?”

Bobbi shrugs. “It’s been a couple years, now.” 

“Do you still love him?” Jemma asks. Her tone is matter-of-fact, but she’s watching Bobbi closely, gauging her response. That’s probably fair. 

Bobbi shrugs. “I’ll always love him a little, I think. But not - we got divorced for a reason.”

Jemma nods. “Most people do.” 

“But it doesn’t change -“ Bobbi starts, then balks. There’s emotion on the tip of her tongue, the prelude to talking about _how she feels about Jemma_ , but it feels like too much for today. She reaches out for Jemma’s hand, and laces their fingers together, before bringing Jemma’s knuckles to her lips. “It’s in the past. It doesn’t change this.” 

Jemma’s smile is radiant, and she looks at Bobbi with such understanding, such delight, that Bobbi can hardly believe it. “Alright,” she says. “That’s alright, then.” 

“Yeah?” Bobbi says. She doesn’t want to make this any messier than it already is, but she does want to be sure. 

Jemma nods. A mischevous look crosses her face, and she jokes, “As long as you’re sure that you like me more. “

Bobbi laughs, and presses a kiss to the top of Jemma’s head. “Someone’s fishing,” is what she says out loud, and that’s enough. But the realization hits her, hard in her gut, that maybe she really does. 

 

++

 

Mack comes by late, a few days later. He’s in her apartment when she arrives home, a welcome scent and a warm body on the couch, watching soccer on TV. 

“Hey, honey,” Bobbi says, sarcastically, as she drops her keys and shrugs out of her jacket. 

“Hey, you,” he says back. She can’t see his face, but his voice is warm, like he’s smiling. On TV, one of the teams scores a goal, and Mack makes a satisfied fist. 

“Didn’t take you for an Arsenal fan,” Bobbi says, sliding onto the couch beside him. 

“Didn’t say I was,” Mack says. “But Hunter’s following Chelsea, and you know how he gets when his team loses.” 

Bobbi laughs, feigning shock. “You wouldn’t be cheering against his team just to see him have a tantrum, would you?”

“Never,” he replies, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. “That’d be wrong.” 

Bobbi nudges his side, and he reaches for the remote, muting the sound of the game. “You here for an update?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Talk to me.” 

“I fixed the Romulus problem,” she says. It’s a half-truth, but an easy one to start with. 

“Yeah? How?”

“I got SHIELD to change the algorithm. It won’t work on our kind of wolves anymore.” 

Mack turns to her, more than mildly surprised. “Your girl help you with that?” he asks. There’s an edge to his voice, the one Bobbi remembers from her days with Hunter. 

Bobbi spreads her hands wide. “She came to me with it. But for what it’s worth, if she says it works, I trust her. And there’s a single server storing the algorithm, so whatever version Ward has, it won’t work either.” 

Mack shrugs. His expression is blank, hard to read, but at least he doesn’t look upset. “It’s a good start. But he might not need to use that algorithm anymore if he already knows where we live.”

“You have a point,” she says. 

Mack chuckles, nudges her shoulder. “I know I do, that’s why they put me in charge.”

“Oh, yeah?” Bobbi asks, laughing. She shoves him right back, gently. She misses him, misses _this_ , bickering and teasing each other instead of fighting. She misses running with him, seeing him every day and talking to him about things other than work. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty important,” he says. With the arm around her shoulders he ruffles her hair, like maybe he misses her, too. “Anyway, we’ve got wolves scouting between here and the Falls scenting for this Ward guy. I think your girl was right about him. There’s some dark stuff coming up, the more we dig.”

Bobbi frowns. “What about that girl - Kara? What’s she saying?”

Mack shrugs. “Not much, but what she is saying isn’t exactly reassuring. Sounds like whatever’s going on in his head, he’s not a fan of SHIELD or our kind of wolves.” 

“Charming.” 

“We’re not finding him in his usual haunts out east, but I’ve got a feeling he’s gone to ground in the city.”

Bobbi nods. “Makes sense. Keeps him close to the action, lots of places to disappear.” 

“Exactly," Mack says. He turns back toward the TV, only half-watching. “Just keep your eyes open, yeah? And keep an eye out for that girl of yours.” 

“Yeah,” Bobbi says, eyes trained on the screen in front of her. She's not thinking about soccer, or about Hunter - she's thinking of Jemma. “Yeah, I will.” 

 

+

 

Bobbi does her best to keep an eye on Jemma, and after a few weeks, they settle into something that’s not unlike a relationship. There hasn’t been any word about Ward, there haven’t been any new crises from Bobbi’s pack, but she’s staying on at SHIELD to keep an eye on things, indefinitely. It feels - comfortable, somehow. 

She gets used to things, the sort of things that would have made her tense with worry, months before. Things like the way Daisy winks and rolls her eyes every time Bobbi answers a text at work (it’s like she _knows_ when they’re from Jemma), the way she slowly starts to get to know Daisy and Fitz as people outside of work, because they spend so much time with Jemma. 

She gets used to shirts on the floor that smell like Jemma and aren’t her size, gets used to having a toothbrush and a bedside table drawer in Jemma’s apartment. 

It’s one of those nights, a Sunday evening at the end of a lazy Sunday. They've been fucking on and off all day and now they're in Jemma's living room, wasting time. it's surprisingly nice. There's Thai takeout in the fridge, and Jemma's warming it up for them, making the whole apartment smell like green curry with rice. Bobbi’s mouth is watering from her spot on the couch. 

They’re watching a movie - the _Twilight_ series, Jemma’s choice. Jemma’s pointing out inconsistencies in the setting and the bad acting, while Bobbi points out all the errors in werewolf mythology. Every time she does, Jemma snuggles into her, murmurs soothing things about how frustrating it is that things are inaccurate. 

It's not terrible. 

They're halfway through _New Moon_ , nearly at Bobbi's limit for terrible filmmaking. They're watching one of the scenes with Jacob and his pack when Jemma looks up at her, nudges gently. "Did you live somewhere like that?"

Bobbi shrugs. “Sort of. It’s kind of a - _commune_ is the wrong word, but there’s a group of us that live together, take care of each other.” 

“Where is it, the place you go back to?” Jemma asks. “When you go.” 

“It’s not far,” Bobbi says, shrugging. “Maybe ninety miles, by car.” 

“Do you think you’ll have to? Leave, I mean.” 

It sort of hits Bobbi, the question that Jemma’s really asking. She realizes that she hadn’t actually thought that far ahead, with all of this. But she wants to stay, wants to keep doing things that keep her near Jemma. She leans forward for the remote, pausing the movie. “I guess,” Bobbi says. “I hadn’t really - I suppose I’ll have to go back at some point, if they ask me to.” 

“Do you think you’d want to come back to visit me?” 

Bobbi's heart does a flip. She wraps herself around Jemma as tightly as she can, cuddling close. “Of course,” she says, pressing a kiss to Jemma's cheek, her throat. "Of course." 

She nips at the shell of Jemma’s ear, the spot that makes her shiver every time. Jemma rolls over to face her, eyes full of intent, and they forget about _Twilight_ and everything else for a few hours.


	8. Chapter Eight

Bobbi still goes for runs, sometimes. The urge to shift is still in her, under her skin, and she needs it to stay steady and feel like herself. Jemma frowns a little, the first time she explains it, but after the first few times Bobbi leaves as she’s going to bed and comes back, exhausted and cold-nosed, she gets used to it. On nights when they’re at Jemma’s she makes a point of staying out all night, and Jemma’s settled into the routine of walking down to the apartment door to let Bobbi back in, when she wakes in the morning. 

It’s one of these days, about a month after they fixed Romulus. She’s coming back from her run, feeling sort of slouchy and comfy in her running tights and a flannel shirt she “borrowed” from Mack years ago. She’s still feeling extra-sensitive, lights and sounds bright and crisp in her senses. She sees-hears-smells the man who works at the coffee cart at the end of Jemma’s block, the young man with the square jaw checking his phone in the park next to Jemma’s building. She feels limber, full of endorphins, with the first edge of soreness setting into her muscles. 

She scents Jemma before she sees her, standing just outside the front door of her building. She’s holding her morning coffee, wrapped up in a sweater that may or may not technically be Bobbi’s, and when she catches sight of Bobbi, she smiles. Bobbi’s heart responds, a flood of warmth in her chest that feels a little like home. She quickens her pace to a gentle jog, eager and unafraid to show it. 

She’s halfway down the walk when something in Jemma’s expression changes, and there’s a flurry of movement at her right side and then _sharp,_ , and the heavy weight of someone large hitting her side. She goes down, rolls away with both feet into her attacker’s abdomen. She hears the satisfying sound of him gasping, the wind knocked out of him, as she rights herself. There’s a scream from in front of her - beside her now, she’s turned around to face her attacker - that part of Bobbi’s mind registers as Jemma’s voice. 

Her attacker is the man from the park, the one with the square jaw and the military haircut. He’s attractive, with a face that might even be charming if it weren’t for his expression, sneering and ugly with rage. He’s holding a knife in his right hand, the blade smeared red and sticky. 

That explains the pain in Bobbi’s side, the blood she can smell in the air. 

“Can I help you?” she asks across the space between them. She’s turning, moving so that she can keep herself between him and Jemma, just out of his reach. 

“I think you know why I’m here,” he spits. 

“I really, really don’t.” 

“Doctor Simmons does,” he says. “Don’t you, Jemma?”

She can feel the burn of real anger, making her ears hot and her heart thud. She doesn’t give Jemma a chance to reply, interrupting so that his focus is still on her. “Grant Ward, I’m assuming?”

“What, like you haven’t heard of me?” He makes a show of rolling his eyes, trying to look disappointed. But his stance is still guarded, and he’s got that knife out in front of him, ready for her. “You’ve got your buddies asking for me all over the state, you’d think _someone_ could have at least shown you a picture.” 

She’s going to take his reply as an answer in the affirmative, but that still doesn’t explain a lot of things - most importantly why he’s here, why he has a knife, why he’s set on talking to Jemma. He looks over Bobbi’s shoulder, locking eyes with Jemma despite Bobbi’s best efforts. ”You took away something that was important to me, Simmons.” His eyes are dark, his expression full of the ugliest sort of revenge. “I was doing great work with Romulus, everyone was going to see that. Now, I guess I’ll have to take something that’s important to you.” 

He lunges for Bobbi, and she scrambles back just in time. “Get inside,” she says to Jemma, even as she’s rushing to her feet. “ _Now._ ”

Jemma doesn’t have to be told twice. Bobbi hears the chirp of the fob lock on the door, the sound of it closing, and that’s not enough if Ward is determined to break the glass, but it’s a start. Through the window, Bobbi can hear Jemma on the phone, saying words like _police_ and reciting her address in a shaky voice, and that’s - good. That’s helpful, and Jemma is safe. 

“Protective, aren’t we?” Ward says. He laughs, ugly and sneering. “You must really like her.” 

Her wolf is angry, _she’s_ angry, because maybe she does, but that’s _none of his fucking business._ For once, she doesn’t feel like she needs to fight any of what she's feeling. She takes a breath, and as she exhales, lets her wolf come out a little. She doesn’t shift, not fully, but her teeth sharpen, her nails lengthen and harden into something not-quite human. If anyone were to look too closely at her, they’d notice the colour of her eyes, the way her arms seem just a little longer than they should. 

Nobody’s around to look too closely, not at this hour. 

She can hear Ward’s breathing, heavy and raspy. He takes in the sight of her and chuckles. “I never figured Simmons for shacking up with a monster. But then, there’s no accounting for taste, these days, is there?”

He shifts his feet, moving his weight backward and getting ready to strike again. Bobbi’s ears are wolf-sensitive, picking up everything, but if she focuses it sounds like he’s favoring his left side, just a little. He swipes again with the knife and she ducks down, leg coming out to hit his left knee, _hard_. She feels tissue buckle underneath her blow, and he drops down with a satisfying grunt. It gives Bobbi enough of an opening to take him by the arm and twist, until she hears the knife clatter to the ground. She kicks it away as fast as she can. 

Ward grabs at her ankle and pulls, and it’s a movement she’s not quite ready for. She hits the ground with both palms, scrambles to catch him as he tries to use the opportunity to stand. 

She catches Ward with one arm, nails longer-than-human tearing into his shirt, the skin of his back and leaving jagged, bloody lines from scapula to sacrum. “ _Bitch_ ,” he hisses.

Bobbi doesn’t dignify that with a response. She’s too busy pulling herself up, forcing herself to stand. Her side is _sore_ , the side that’s bleeding, and her breath feels like it’s coming a bit more shallowly than it should. But Ward’s looking at the knife on the ground, thinking about lunging, and that’s enough to urge her into a ready stance, daring him with her eyes to try something. 

Ward’s eyes flick from the knife to Bobbi and back again, but before he can move the sound of sirens wails through the air, distant but growing louder. Ward runs. 

Bobbi considers chasing him, for a brief moment (longer than that, probably, and the wolf parts of her want to _shift_ , to _follow_ , to _hunt_ ). But she doesn’t know if he’s alone, and Jemma’s inside and the police aren’t here yet, and making sure she’s safe is the most important thing. She waits, breathes, tries to focus on slowing her heart rate and willing her features back to something more human. 

Shifting back takes the edge off her anger, but it also makes her notice her body a lot more. Now that there’s no immediate threat, her side is screaming at her, tender to touch and painful on the inside, burning every time she takes a breath. Her shirt and the top of her leggings feel wet, sticky, and there’s an odd whistling noise from her side every time she exhales. The sirens are louder this time, almost deafening against her wolf-sensitive ears, and dimly, Bobbi hopes one of them belongs to an ambulance. 

She hears the sound of tires along the road, and then people are coming out of cars and Jemma’s in front of her, teary-eyed. “Jemma,” she says. Her voice sounds odd, even to her own ears, weaker than it’s supposed to be. 

“Bobbi,” Jemma says in a watery voice. She’s sniffling, looking at Bobbi like she’s scared, and that’s - no, that’s not right. “What on earth were you doing? You could have been _killed_.”

“I needed to keep you safe,” Bobbi mumbles, drawing Jemma into a hug. “You’re important to me.” 

Jemma sniffles loudly against the side of Bobbi’s chest, pulling her close. “What about the fact that you’re important to me?” she asks, softly. Bobbi’s heart does a bit of a flip, one that she’s sure isn’t due to blood loss. For some reason, that hadn’t occurred to her. 

Jemma steps back, suddenly enough that it jolts Bobbi’s side, making her groan. Her right hand is sticky and red and she’s looking at it with horror that’s probably justified. “You’re bleeding,” she says. 

“It’s fine,” Bobbi says. It feels fine, for a bit, and she needs to make sure Jemma’s okay. 

“It’s absolutely not fine, you’ve been stabbed,” Jemma says, almost scolding. She takes Bobbi by her good arm and steers her toward the paramedics. “Sit down,” she says, in a voice that’s surprisingly commanding given her stature and the tear trails down both cheeks. 

Bobbi obeys. She’s sitting on something - a stretcher - and there’s someone in a uniform wrapping something tight around her arm. “Wait,” she says. Her voice is weak, and for some reason she can’t make it stronger. She reaches into her shirt pocket for her phone, and presses it into Jemma’s hand. 

There’s blood smeared across the screen, and she wants to apologize but there’s another man - _paramedic_ , that’s the word - easing her down onto a stretcher, and it feels like he might have the right idea. “Can you - call Mack,” she says. “He needs to know about this.” 

Jemma nods, but for some reason she’s fuzzy around the edges. Bobbi feels the sharp poke of something at the inner crease of her elbow, and then her world goes dark. 

 

+

 

Bobbi remembers in bits and pieces. She remembers the back of the ambulance, remembers someone in scrubs taking a look at her side and saying, “ _Jesus_ , look at that. She’s going to have to go to the OR.” 

There’s a nurse with brown eyes, and a mask that smells like chemicals, and then she’s awake in a hospital bed with a tube in her side, head fuzzy with morphine. She goes to sleep. 

 

When she wakes the next time, Mack’s sitting next to her. He’s hunched over, trying to fit into a plastic chair that looks about a size too small, back pressed against the curtain behind him. “Hey,” she says. Her voice feels odd, hoarse, like she hasn’t used it for a while. 

“Hey, you,” he says. His tone is his usual, like he’s over at her apartment, but he’s holding her hand with both of his, grip tight and warm. “You gave us quite a scare, there.” 

Memories come rushing back to her, and she feels a flutter of anxiety. “Ward, he was -“

Mack shakes his head. “ - handled. Your girl helped us out.”

“Jemma, is she -“

“She’s alright, Barbara, keep your shirt on.” His hand is on her sternum, and she realizes she’s trying to get out of bed and there are things pulling at her, IV lines and other things that should probably stay put. “She called me after you got brought out here, and we’ve been sorting things out. Grant Ward’s in custody, and he’s going to go to jail for - well, pretty much forever. Idaho’s job at the D.A.’s office is finally paying off.” 

Bobbi settles back down onto the bed, trying to relax. She’s still sore, at the side where she was injured, and there’s a tube there that scratches and burns every time she breathes too deeply. “Has she -?” she stops, not sure about the end to her question. 

Mack chuckles, like he understands. “She’s been in and out. She really likes you, you know.”

Now it’s Bobbi’s turn to laugh, gingerly. “Yeah, well. I’m pretty likeable.”

“Not every day you find someone who likes a person like that,” he says. It’s as close as he comes to an apology, an acknowledgement that maybe Bobbi made a good decision in Jemma, and that means something, coming from him. 

Bobbi smile is wide, enough that she feels it in her cheeks, her eyes. “What’s all this?” she asks, gesturing to her upper body. 

“Doctors say you had a punctured lung, needed surgery and that tube over there. They also say they’ve never seen anyone recover so fast from an injury like this.” 

“Well, you know. I take vitamins,” Bobbi says, trying for a joke. 

Mack laughs like he hasn’t heard one for a while. “Sounds like they’re trying to spring you as soon as possible, so hopefully you’ll be able to walk around pretty soon.” 

Bobbi realizes she’s wearing her hospital gown, thinks back to the clothes she was wearing before she got attacked. “I think I ruined your shirt,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Mack shrugs. “It’s alright. I guess I’ll just have to loan you another one.” 

He ruffles her hair, and she bats at his hand, laughing. If it weren’t for all of the lines and the beeping monitors, she’d almost feel like things were back to normal. It’s pretty nice. 

 

+

 

Bobbi spends another week in hospital, but by the time she leaves she’s walking on her own, eating her usual, feeling well. Her chest still feels sore, and there’s a twinge when she breathes in deeply that she’s going to need to rehab through, but she’s mostly in one piece and back to herself. 

She goes back to her apartment, washes up in her own shower and uses shampoo that smells like her own, and it feels like a luxury after spending time in hospital. She goes to her dresser and puts on underwear, a clean bra, her favourite pair of jeans. She chooses a sweater that’s a little oversized, one that won’t rub against the space where her stitches used to be, still pink and not-quite-healed. 

The next place she goes is Jemma’s apartment. 

She doesn’t have her phone, so she can’t text ahead, but she goes over on instinct. She just - she needs to be there. She hasn’t seen Jemma for a couple days, not since she was on her back in the hospital and Jemma was looking at her like - something. Like she wanted Bobbi to be better. Like something more than that. 

She rings Jemma’s buzzer, and it goes for a while before she hears Jemma’s voice on the other end. “Hello?” Jemma asks. 

“Hey, it’s me,” Bobbi says. 

“Oh,” Jemma’s voice says through the intercom, and Bobbi can’t read her tone through the tinny speaker, but the door lock clicks open, and she’ll take that as a good sign. 

She goes up, walking the familiar stairs and down the hallway she knows. She feels oddly nervous as she knocks on the door, doing this for the first time since Ward. 

The door opens too quickly, like Jemma was waiting for her, and she looks at Bobbi with a smile and a bit of a nervous laugh. “Hey,” Bobbi says. She’s already said that, but Jemma is here in front of her and she smells just the same and her skin is pink and warm and she’s _safe_ and Bobbi feels a little shaky with how important it is, being here right now. 

“Hi,” Jemma whispers. She’s looking at Bobbi with eyes that are dark with emotion, flicking from her mouth to the rest of her face and back again like Bobbi feels just as important to her.

“I, um -“ Bobbi starts, but Jemma’s already speaking as well. 

“Would you like to -“

They both stop at the same time, and then there’s that quiet again, both of them waiting for the other. Bobbi is the one who moves first, because maybe she can’t put things into words but she can _show_ Jemma, she knows it. She steps toward her, into the apartment, and pulls her into a deep, searing kiss. 

The door closes behind her, and she’s not sure which one of them did that but at least it’s _done_ , which means she can kiss Jemma for as long as she wants. Her mouth feels exactly the same as it did two weeks ago but _better_ , lips soft and open and pliant against her own. She feels Jemma exhale against her lips and then she sort of melts, letting her body line up with Bobbi’s and it’s everything she’s ever wanted. 

Jemma’s apartment door opens up into the living room, and Bobbi maneuvers them both backwards until she’s close to the edge of the couch. She breaks away from Jemma’s body momentarily to sit on the armrest, legs splayed. Jemma chuckles. “And here I was expecting that you’d throw me over your shoulder,” she says. Her tone is teasing, affectionate in a way that makes answering affection bloom in Bobbi’s chest. 

She laughs, reaches out so that her hands are laced together behind Jemma’s back. She tugs, and Jemma obeys her suggestion, stepping into the space between Bobbi’s thighs. Like this, their mouths are nearly the same height. “I’m not supposed to do any heavy lifting for a bit,” Bobbi admits, a little sheepish. 

“Oh,” Jemma says, expression clouding a little bit at the reminder that Bobbi was hurt. “For how long?”

The doctors told her _six weeks_ , but Bobbi’s got a bit of an edge with wolf healing. Besides, there’s no way she’s waiting that long to get back to everything she likes. “I think a month?” she says. 

Jemma licks her lips. Bobbi catches herself leaning forward, already most of the way back to kissing her. “Well then I’ll have to take excellent care of you,” she murmurs. 

Bobbi’s reply is swallowed in another kiss, bruising and eager. She licks into Jemma’s mouth, tongue flicking across her teeth and Jemma groans. She feels herself clench in reply, already full of wanting. Jemma shifts her weight, and then one of her thighs is pressed right against the space between Bobbi’s legs, filling it with warmth and pressure. Bobbi leans against the contact, letting herself enjoy the desire pooling between her thighs. She doesn’t necessarily want friction, but she wants to _feel her_ , solid and real. She wants to know for herself that Jemma's safe. 

“You’re okay,” Bobbi whispers, as she reaches for the buttons on Jemma’s shirt. She leans down and presses kisses across her breasts, her sternum, her ribs. She doesn't repeat herself out loud, but she thinks it with every touch: _you're okay, you're okay, you're okay._

Jemma sort of whisper-sighs, “ _Yes_.” 

Her hands are tangled in Bobbi’s hair and she’s running her hands across Bobbi’s shoulders, her upper back, urging her to press even closer against Jemma’s body. “You’re safe,” Jemma whispers. 

“I am,” Bobbi replies. 

Jemma’s hand tightens against Bobbi’s shoulder, and Bobbi pauses, looking up. “Can we, um,” Jemma starts. She takes a step backward, offering her hand. 

Bobbi accepts, and lets herself be led toward the bedroom. 

Jemma is the one who helps her out of her jeans, unbuckling and sliding them down her thighs, indicating that Bobbi should kick her way out of them. Jemma is the one who shrugs her shirt off, and reaches out to ease Bobbi’s underwear off her hips. She pushes at Bobbi’s shoulders, gently. Bobbi sits automatically, obediently. She wants to be whatever Jemma needs, to make her feel safe and cared for. 

Jemma leaves Bobbi’s sweater for last. She plucks at it a couple of times, as though she’s not quite sure if it’s proper. “Let me?” Bobbi asks. 

Jemma nods, murmurs, “Yes, please.”

It’s not painful to pull off her sweater, but it feels _odd_ , the scars at her left side stretching as she lifts her arms. The skin still feels raw, looks pink and freshly healed, drawing attention. Jemma looks at her, looks at her scars, and there’s pain in her eyes that makes Bobbi’s heart ache. She takes Jemma’s hand, bringing it to her side, running her fingers across the skin there. “See? All in one piece.” 

“You’re sure?” Jemma asks. She’s tracing lines across Bobbi’s side on her own, now, walking her fingertips along Bobbi’s ribs, drawing goosebumps as she moves. 

“I’m sure,” Bobbi replies. 

Jemma kind of lunges forward, mouth first, pulling Bobbi into a kiss with a hand at her nape, mouth hot and fierce. Jemma’s other hand is at Bobbi’s back, undoing her bra and all but tearing it off of her, reaching up to clutch at her breasts with a roughness that makes Bobbi hiss with pleasure. 

Jemma shoves again and Bobbi lets herself fall backwards, inching her way up the bed so that Jemma can straddle her. Jemma kisses her way down, the weight of her solid and real and perfect against Bobbi’s pelvis. She presses her mouth to each of Bobbi’s ribs, taking care around her scar. She kisses at Bobbi’s belly, her hipbones, taking her time. The pace is slow, but Bobbi feels like she can handle slow, today. Her wolf is still _there_ , all energy and desire coiled tight inside her, but it feels okay to let Jemma be thorough, to let Jemma touch her. 

There’s sharpness at her hipbone as Jemma bites, not nearly hard enough to break skin but enough that Bobbi _feels it._ She groans. 

Jemma slides down the bed, settling on her belly, mouth inches away from Bobbi’s cunt. She’s looking up the length of her, eyes full of promise, and Bobbi _wants_ , hard. She takes a deep breath in, exhales as slowly as she can, trying to wait for Jemma to act. The waiting is agony, setting every one of Bobbi’s nerve endings on fire with anticipation and Jemma’s looking at her like she knows it. 

Jemma pauses a few seconds more, before moving closer, soft tongue slipping in between Bobbi’s folds and it feels _amazing _, it feels like what she’s been missing all along. She arches up, trying to keep her hips still as Jemma licks into her. It’s so _good_ , the feel of her mouth, the feel of her hands against Bobbi’s hips, encouraging her to stay still. It’s not long - it’s never long, Bobbi’s so _eager_ \- before Bobbi’s crying out and shaking, letting wave after wave of orgasm run through her. __

__When she’s finished, whimpering and sweaty and sated, she opens her eyes. Jemma’s watching her, head pillowed on Bobbi’s thigh. Her mouth is slick with Bobbi, her eyes full of desire, and it’s - _oh_ , it’s just what Bobbi wants. _ _

__Jemma moves up the bed slowly, leaving kisses as she passes Bobbi's belly, her breasts, her mouth. It's slow and messy and slippery and delicious. Jemma’s mouth tastes like _her_ , and the realization delights all of Bobbi’s possessive parts. She groans. _ _

__Jemma pulls back, chuckling. “I missed you,” she says. Her voice is the tenderest thing, accent curling around the word _you_ in a way Bobbi only hears when they’re alone._ _

__“Me, too,” Bobbi whispers. It’s an admission, something that feels secret, but with Jemma here, it’s okay to tell._ _

__Jemma’s face lights up in a smile, one she tries to hide by kissing Bobbi’s cheek, bashfully. “Can I show you?” Bobbi adds._ _

__She realizes, after the fact, that she could have meant a lot of things. But here, with Jemma on top of her, pupils dark and heart thudding double-time, there’s pretty much the one interpretation. Jemma nods, eagerly._ _

__“I want you to ride me,” Bobbi murmurs, voice already rough with arousal at the thought of it._ _

__Jemma flushes bright pink, and licks her lips. She makes her way up the bed, until she’s sort of straddling Bobbi’s chest. Bobbi can already feel the heat of her, inches away from her sternum. “You mean, like -?“ she asks._ _

__Bobbi nods._ _

__Jemma moves again, shifting so that her knees are level with Bobbi’s shoulders and her thighs can slide open, lowering herself down. She smells so good, and tastes even better as Bobbi holds on to Jemma’s hips, guiding her close. Bobbi runs the flat of her tongue across Jemma’s center, gently, and is rewarded with a long, shuddering whimper. She looks up, taking in the sight of Jemma above her, safe and whole and _hers._ It feels clear, feels _important_ in a way that’s bigger than just satisfying her in the moment. _ _

__She licks in earnest, running her tongue against Jemma’s clit until she’s crying out, thighs shaking with the effort of not grinding down against Bobbi’s face. Bobbi hums, and Jemma flies apart, slippery and loud and _perfect_ , slumping down against the wall at the head of the bed. _ _

__Jemma rests for a long while, catching her breath. Bobbi lets her, running gentle fingers up and down her spine, mumbling sweetness. She's beautiful, like this, sated and tousled and _hers.__ _

__When she's ready, Jemma moves back down the bed, tucking herself in against Bobbi's side. Bobbi kisses her forehead, gently, and reaches up to fiddle with the ends of Jemma's hair. It feels good, it feels like everything she missed while she was injured._ _

__Jemma's scent is all around her. Bobbi feels calm like this, with Jemma beside her. It feels like something she'd like to get used to._ _

__Jemma turns in her arms, just enough so that she can look at Bobbi. “Can I ask you something?” she says._ _

__“Of course,” Bobbi says. With one hand, she scratches across Jemma’s scalp and then runs her fingers through her hair, gently easing out tangles as she goes._ _

__“Well, Ward is dealt with, and I know SHIELD isn’t a problem for you anymore, now that I’ve got Romulus sorted.”_ _

__It’s not a question, but it’s the prelude to one. Jemma’s looking up at Bobbi with searching eyes, so Bobbi responds. “Yeah.”_ _

__“So there’s nothing keeping you in the city, really, at least not work-wise,” Jemma says._ _

__“I guess,” Bobbi says._ _

__It’s clear where this is going, now. She feels herself start to tense, as Jemma asks the inevitable question: “When do you think you’ll go back?”_ _

__Bobbi sighs. She presses her mouth against Jemma’s forehead, as much to dodge those eyes as to give herself time to think. She has an answer in her throat, the one that she would have given a few months earlier. But things feel different now. Her pack needs her, that's still true, but just as true is the memory of that morning with Ward, being so scared of Jemma getting hurt that she felt it down to her bones. There’s certainty there, certainty from Bobbi and certainty from her wolf, and that means something. “I don’t know,” she whispers against Jemma’s skin._ _

__She leans back, wanting Jemma to see her, because maybe she’s not the best at putting stuff like this into words, but she’s pretty sure it’s all over her face, right now. Bobbi’s never been one for thinking about the future. But she knows that right now, she doesn’t like the idea of going back, or walking away, and maybe that’s all that matters. “I like this,” she finally says, moving her hand just above Jemma’s chest. “A lot.”_ _

__“Well, that’s a good thing.” Jemma’s voice is tight, and she’s looking at Bobbi like she’s important, like her answer’s important._ _

__Bobbi takes a deep breath, and the words come out in a rush. “I don’t really want to go anywhere. I was thinking -“ she looks down, takes another breath. “I was thinking, maybe I should look into staying. What would you think of that?”_ _

__When Bobbi looks back up, there are tears in Jemma’s eyes. “ _Yes_ ” she whispers, a little watery as the tears start to fall. “Yes, you idiot, I think you should.” _ _

__Bobbi pulls Jemma into a kiss, pours as much emotion as she can into it. This feels good, it feels like something that’s _hers_. It feels like something big enough that she should figure out the pack stuff, find a way to make things work. Serving the pack is something Bobbi needs to do, but having someone like Jemma is just as important. Maybe it’s alright to want both._ _


End file.
